


As Long As We're Going Down

by illyriazshell



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, But he gets off in other ways too, I promise, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Finale, Will gets off on being withholding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:06:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4791848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyriazshell/pseuds/illyriazshell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is struggling in the wake of his becoming, but Hannibal is more determined than ever to help him work through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Will closed his eyes and exhaled.

From behind his eyelids, the pendulum swung. It swept away the crowd, swept away the two detectives and the handful of forensic techs who’d just arrived to the scene. His heart beat steady in his ears as time reversed, the sun setting in the east, and only light from the full moon bathed the town square.

In the center, on a stone platform, a pair of ballet dancers posed, immobile. The man, on his knees, held the woman powerfully above at an angle perpendicular to him, her back arched as her arms and legs pointed perfectly towards the sky. It was a pose that required incredible strength, skill, and precision on both their parts. Or it would have, were they alive.

The pendulum swung again, wiping away their impeccable makeup to reveal costumed bodies lined with stitches. Swinging again, and they both lay side by side on the ground, apart but in the exact same positions they’d been in when he’d been holding her above him. Again, and Will was in a workshop with their limp corpses laying on a table next to two foam mannequins, carved into the familiar positions. Will looked out the window and noticed it was dawn.

He paused to let the ache for the full moon pass. He knew it would be coming back around again soon.

He shut his eyes again and relaxed. The pendulum swung a final time and stopped dead in the centre of his vision before fading away.

His eyes opened and he surveyed his surroundings.

_I lay their bodies down to sleep. I drug them so they won’t wake up again. I want no external harm to come to them, no unnecessary marks or blemishes, so I simply wait for them to die. Peacefully, unknowingly, they do._

Will seized the knife laying expectantly for him and approached the dead man first.

_I cut him carefully, strategically, in all the places that will allow me to peel off his skin in one piece. I’m not a surgeon, though I am well practised. But I have never performed on human flesh, and I want to know how he will tear before I start my work on her._

Will blinked, realizing what he felt as he made the skillful slices into skin.

_I love them both, but she is the object of my affection. My work on her has to be perfect._

Will took his time, hesitant at first as he flayed the man. Then meticulously, reverently, he repeated the same actions on the woman, but with more certainty.

_I place the flayed skins on the mannequins that I have made ahead of time. I stitch them up until they are whole again and they fit like a glove. Light as they are, I carry them both to where I can assemble them alone._

Will placed the woman atop the arms of the man and she stayed, perfectly balanced. He sewed them together where their skin met and then applied heavy makeup to cover all the visible stitches.

_Now everyone will see them as I need to see them; frozen in their finest moment._

Circling the finished work in the moonlight, Will felt a wave of adoration and soothing contentment wash over him.

_This is my shrine to their grace. This is my monument to their glory. This is my design._

The loud, whirling rush of wind down a tunnel overpowered his senses and he turned his head to see the wendigo standing tall over his shoulder, glancing towards the dancers with appreciation. It reached out a long, slender hand and gripped his shoulder firmly, affectionately.

In another life, this gesture would have struck dread in Will’s heart that radiated out to his every extremity. As he was, Will smiled.

Blinking, the world came back. But all he saw was Hannibal standing behind him, beaming pride with a nearly imperceptible grin.

“I think we’ve found someone who can sate both our appetites.”


	2. Chapter 2

Will awoke in slow, steady pulses, awareness hitting him like a dull throb that only grew stronger.

The last thing he remembered was the whipping wind rushing past them as they fell towards the ocean, his eyes squeezed shut as he clutched to Hannibal’s body with every last ounce of strength he had. Even in free fall, hurtling towards their certain death, he hadn’t trusted Hannibal not to slip away somehow. Will had to end him, to end it all, and he had to be there at the very last instant to make sure it was over.

Because he didn’t want to imagine himself in the world that came after. Wrapped around Hannibal after their first kill together and before both of their own inevitable ends, he was at peace. This was his best possible world.

Then his memories faded to black.

Dimly, he realized he could barely feel his body beyond rocking back and forth, side to side. His eyes flitted open and in the haze of his vision, he could see he was lying in a warm bed in a small, cramped room. The many unmistakable sounds of the ocean floated in through the window behind him. He had been heavily sedated, and so was only slowly able to piece together that he was somehow on a boat.

The distant clicking of hooves drew Will’s attention and within a moment, Hannibal had materialized in the doorway.

“Hello, Will.”

Will could barely make out his face; his expression was unreadable.

Speaking was painful and difficult. Will remembered the knife to his right cheek and felt there was a bandage there now. He had to concentrate on forming the words, forcing them out of his mouth.  “Are we dead?”

“No,” Hannibal answered at a distance, “but not for lack of trying.”

A deep pang of despair struck Will then. He let out an audible sob. “How?”

“It would be in neither of our best interests to reveal the miraculous nature of our survival.” Hannibal chuckled darkly. Will wondered if he was taking pleasure in his misery. “At least, not until a time comes when I’m certain you won’t try to undermine it.”

Will wanted to sit up, to scream, to tear Hannibal limb from limb. But as soon as he gathered the energy, he realized he couldn’t move. His arms and legs tugged on ropes that bound him to the four corners of the bed. Hannibal made no move to control his struggle, and Will finally accepted its futility. He collapsed again in frustration.

After a beat, Hannibal added “Admittedly, that time may never come.”

“Are you expecting an apology?” Will snarled.

“For embracing your true nature?” Hannibal chuckled. “No, the fault is mine for being too distracted with the beauty of that moment to truly appreciate what it would mean for us both.”

Feeling hopeless, Will tossed his head back and stared at the low ceiling as his breathing slowly settled back to normal. His voice cracking, he sighed, “You should’ve left me to die.”

Hannibal hummed. “Chiyoh has been saying as much for days.”

“Chiyoh…” Will said with a dawning awareness. Of course. She’d probably helped saved them. She was likely on the boat, tending to them and steering them…elsewhere. “I’m surprised I haven’t been tossed overboard.”

Hannibal’s tone was severe.  “I have no intention of abandoning you, especially now.”

Hannibal moved to sit in a chair at the base of the bed and only then did Will notice how rough he was looking. His movements lacked their normal grace and precision; he shuffled and limped instead of gliding, steadying himself on the wall or the furniture before dropping into the chair. His hair was tussled and his face was peppered with stubble, bruises and cuts. He hadn’t been groomed in days. Stranger still was the image of Hannibal wearing an oversized white t-shirt and black sweatpants, something that refused to register in Will’s drug-addled mind.

Hannibal looked human. Will found it deeply unsettling.

Wincing at what had to be pain from his bullet wound, Hannibal continued. “It would seem God is not done with us yet either.”

Will closed his eyes and grunted. “Easier to believe in no God than one who would unleash us on the world.”

Hannibal almost seemed offended. “Will, if after all this time, you still believe God would deny you the glory of your becoming, you have not been paying attention.”

“You’re the one who would deny me,” Will stated simply. “Not my becoming, but my victory.”

Hannibal tilted his head. “I remember with utmost clarity you foolishly claiming that when it comes to you and me, there can be no decisive victory.”

“We _are_ a zero sum game,” Will quoted Hannibal’s words in turn. He stared at him, defeated. “We played and we paid. Our wins should have cancelled each other out.”

Hannibal paused while he considered the weight of Will’s words.

“Perhaps the game board has been reset, the deck reshuffled, now that we are finally on the same side.” Hannibal leaned forward and rested his hand upon Will’s leg. He gripped firmly, trying to make him see. “The two of us were preordained. Our union is greater than the forces of life and death. That is why we survived.”

Will shook his head as the sweet pull of sleep began to drag him under.

“I died with unfinished business. I’m not alive; I’m a ghost.”


	3. Chapter 3

Will and Hannibal walked side-by-side on the outskirts of the village square. They’d done their best to only stay in places where the residents were fairly disconnected from the rest of the world. However, the amount of local law enforcement that a crime scene as dramatic as this one attracted meant their risk of exposure shot up drastically. So while everyone crowded around the deceased ballet dancers displayed in broad daylight, the two of them retreated to the shadows.

Which was fine with Will; he’d seen enough. They slipped into a suitably darkened pub with a good view of the square and ordered two beers. While Hannibal casually sipped, Will chugged down his beer in ten seconds flat and ordered another. He was still trembling from the after effects of seeing through the killer’s eyes.

Hannibal placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Will sank into the contact, unashamed of how it immediately calmed him.

Hannibal surveyed the scene in the center of the square. “The Romeo and Juliet press lift, one of the more difficult in ballet. An evocative, romantic image. Absolutely stunning. Tell me, what did you see?”

Will sighed, his back to the dancers and his eyes on the floor. “He’s a professional taxidermist, or someone who is passionate about taxidermy as an art. A very practised hobbyist, maybe. He enjoys preserving life in moments of time. But he prefers that they’re moments of his own choosing.”

Hannibal tried to catch his eyes. “Why them? Why this moment?”

“Well, it wasn’t to humiliate them, so it definitely wasn’t you,” Will cocked his eyebrow and smirked. Hannibal grinned in kind. “It’s celebration. It’s reverence. He’s a fanatic.”

“For the ballet?” Hannibal asked.

Will shook his head. “He’s an appreciator of arts beside his own, but his vision is what matters most. No, this was about them. Or her, but specifically, it’s about them together, as he’s left them. His worship of her lives in that moment, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her ever existing outside of it. So he preserved her in it forever.”

“An act of love,” Hannibal noted simply.

Will snorted. “I’d hoped you learned the difference between obsession and love by now.”

Hannibal blinked. “I do know the difference. I also know they’re not mutually exclusive.”

Will had no retort for that. They sipped on their beers with leisure for a moment.

Finally, Hannibal broke the silence. “How was it to wade into the mind of a new killer?”

“It felt…” Will considered, thumbing the condensation on his glass. “Energizing.”

He dared a quick sideways glance at the man beside him, and could see he was pleased with his choice of word.

“Did your empathy today differ from before?” Hannibal leaned in closer. “Now that it’s no longer muzzled by Jack Crawford and the FBI?”

“Now that I’ve truly abandoned conventional morality?” Will snickered and closed his eyes, breathing slowly. “I’ve never had the freedom to fully revel in the destruction. I’d look enough to see what they did, and know why they did it. But those I empathize with have always been trespassers in my mind, breaking and entering, stealing bits of my sanity. Whenever I wanted to bask in another killer’s urges, fear forced me to cower in a closet.”

“And what of your fear now?” Hannibal was close enough to whisper in his ear. “Has it burned to ash in the wake of your becoming?”

Will took stock of his headspace, and turned to meet Hannibal’s gaze dead on. “No, fear is pulsing through me, as strong and steady as it ever has been in the presence of darkness.”

He searched Hannibal’s eyes for forgiveness of such an admission, but he was met instead with incredulity. Of course, Hannibal had never seen the benefit in being afraid. Will had to make him understand.

“They’re no longer opposing forces. They’re finally working in tandem.” Will inhaled deeply and turned to view the tableau from a safe distance. “Now, my fear wants nothing more than to weaponize those urges and point them directly back at their source.”

Hannibal’s breath hitched. “Fascinating.” He cupped Will’s cheek reverently, with little regard for any potential onlookers. “And how does that make you feel, dear Will?”

Will’s heart pounded and he leaned into the space between them, cracking a genuine smile.

“Alive.”


	4. Chapter 4

The hot Caribbean sun beat down on Will’s chest as he sat propped up in the beach chair. Beads of sweat pooled along his brow and down his neck, but he could make no move to wipe them away. After a week of good behaviour, he’d been allowed out of his physical restraints, but had not earned enough trust to move around without heavy sedation.

Will gazed out into the private cove they’d found unoccupied, appreciating the tropical flora and the teal-blue waters that stretched out before him. As he committed the beautiful sight to his mind palace, he made the effort to block out the detail of the boat tied at the end of the dock. He tried especially hard to ignore Chiyoh, who was on deck, standing guard with her riffle and eying him with caution.

 “This wound is coming along rather well,” Hannibal noted, drawing Will’s attention back to him. He was kneeling on a blanket at Will’s side, reaching out for various medical supplies on a small glass table as he cleaned and touched up the stiches on Will’s shoulder. He did this with clinical precision and the utmost care. “It should heal fairly cleanly, and you’ll only have minimal issues with movement going forward.”

“Assuming I’m ever permitted control of my body again,” Will mumbled bitterly.

Hannibal smiled up at him with the same warmth he’d always employed. “You have much healing to do, Will, and not just from physical injuries. Rebirth is as traumatic as natural birth, only our minds are able to absorb the trauma much more fully. It’s my duty to care for you through the worst of it as you are not able to care for yourself.”

Will tried to communicate annoyance with a snort, but it was a half-hearted attempt. His deep, dark secret of late had been how he’d found himself appreciating Hannibal’s methods of rehabilitation.

While Chiyoh had been assisting Hannibal to heal from his own injuries, he’d clearly insisted on being the one to look after Will. After their first conversation, Will had calmed down and simply let the good doctor do his work. It was too much effort to fight the drugs to argue with his captor-slash-caretaker. Hannibal monitored him, fed him, washed him, clothed him, and guided him around when he’d needed out of the restraints. And it was just so much easier to go with it willingly that Will eventually welcomed the sting of the needle, just so he’d have the excuse.

But he still had a modicum of pride. He wasn’t going to give up the pretense.

“How long before this shattered teacup is reassembled, Dr. Lecter?” Will slurred through the sedatives. “Will it always need such elaborate cushioning, or can you ever trust it to keep itself together?”

Hannibal let slip a mild chuckle as he made his final touch-ups on Will’s stitches.“Trust is often given freely, but once it is broken, it needs to be earned.”

Hannibal turned to place the instruments on the table and reached into his satchel to grab something new. Before Will could register what it was, his wound was being wiped down with a soft, damp cloth.

Will shivered at the soothing contact, and not just because it was cool. Will thought back on Hannibal bandaging up his hands after he’d beaten Randall Tier to death; how intimate that moment had been, how he’d needed Hannibal’s sure hands to steady him, to care for him.

Conventional boundaries and issues of personal space had never applied to their dynamic. He’d been so isolated, so starved for connection that Hannibal’s clinical touch had not just felt appropriate; it had been welcome. Hannibal’s hands had always been a source of comfort for Will. Even when those hands had gutted him, Will had leaned into Hannibal’s embrace for stability.

Now that he knew Hannibal was more than obsessed with him, Will couldn’t help but see everything in a whole new light. But he didn’t recoil as he’d thought he might if he’d been a different man, one without his empathy. Instead, knowing that there was love behind each touch had Will wanting to sink even deeper into the comfort of Hannibal’s physical affections. Which terrified him, given everything that comfort had cost him in the past.

Water dripped down to his stomach and pooled in Will’s belly. The cloth followed, first to clean, but soon it was tracing along the line of Will’s scar. The smile Hannibal made at this mirrored the smile he had left.

“Though I suppose trust has been broken between us in both directions.”

Will wanted to feel angry, or indignant, or violated in some way. But Will only shuddered appreciatively at the cool contact, and with a little jerk of his head, signalled that it was needed elsewhere. Hannibal looked at him, amused, and happily obliged, tracing a damp path up his chest, along his neck and across his forehead. Will sighed into the gesture. Quietly and shamefully, he admitted to himself that twist in his stomach was, in fact, a good one.

As the tip of the cloth ran along the scar on his forehead, Will chanced a look at Hannibal’s face and picked up a mixture of pride, affection and hunger. Hannibal dropped the cloth then and ran his thumb along the scar again, and Will caught his seemingly clinical caretaker unabashedly lick his lips.

Will blamed both the heat and the drugs as he blurted out “Does it excite you to see that I’m marked in this particular way?”

"Yes," Hannibal answered without missing a beat. "It’s why I’m taking extra precautions to minimize the scarring on your cheek. I’m not fond of the remnants of someone else’s brush on my canvas.”

Will had suspected as much, and a voice in his head screamed out in horror. But it was dull and distant, relegated to the back of his mind long before their fall. He was too preoccupied with the weight of such a confirmation to give its implications much thought. The damn of their tacit understandings had burst. Emboldened, he pressed further because he had to know for sure.

“In what way does it excite you?”

Hannibal considered Will for a moment, scanning for any notes of insincerity. Evidently he found none, and from his crouched position at the side of Will’s knees, Hannibal extended upwards along the length of his body. Will was suddenly conscious of how both their chests were exposed and inches apart. Every nerve of his was on alert, his fight or flight response kicked into high gear even though he could do neither. He swallowed thickly as Hannibal’s lips stopped short of his own.

He recalled their embrace on the cliff before he’d dragged them both over. The moment they were in was substantially different, and yet the warring urges to conquer and succumb were all too familiar.

Before any of Will’s instincts could kick in, Hannibal’s head tilted to the left and away from his lips. Chin lightly grazing his unmarked cheek, Hannibal whispered an answer to the question Will had already forgotten.

“It excites me in every way. As you always have.”

When Hannibal pulled back, he was treated to the sight of Will panting. Eyes lidded and trembling, he was unable to voice a coherent thought. “I-I don’t…I’ve never…”

Before moving to stand, Hannibal smiled confidently and lightly touched his cheek. “I know.”

But as the doctor packed away the supplies and prepared to guide them back to the boat, all Will heard echoing in his head was the unspoken promise of  _you will._


	5. Chapter 5

The memorial for Maria and Alexander was held at the theater and thrown by their ballet company. Hundreds were in attendance, not just the locals, but friends, family and admirers from far and wide.

This was both a blessing and a burden, as more people meant more opportunity to blend, but once again, risked more eyes that could recognize either Will or Hannibal. Their faces had really only been splashed on the front page of American publications, but the internet rendered that advantage effectively moot. Lucky for them that most of the world believed them dead.

Besides, Hannibal couldn’t resist an opportunity to unveil a new suit; dark grey with subtle red patterning, it was impeccably bold.  Will knew better than to point out that Hannibal’s outfit was defeating the purpose of their cover. While on the run, Hannibal had been restricted to fashion that was decidedly less flashy than his preferred attire, knowing that purchases made to his favourite designers were likely still being monitored until their bodies washed up on shore. But they were in Europe, where new designers were emerging all the time, and Hannibal had been pleased to find one that was unknown enough to be off the authorities’ radar.

Will had stuck to a more traditional ensemble; a clean black suit and tie combo appropriate for the occasion. At Hannibal’s insistence, it had been hand-tailored to fit him perfectly, and despite Will’s general lack of concern for his appearance, he found himself appreciating it all the same. Hannibal had certainly made a point to verbalize how he appreciated Will in it as well. And Will couldn’t help beaming at those compliments.  

When they’d arrived at the memorial, they split up to mingle and agreed to meet up afterwards to compare notes. Will knew the killer, fanatic as he was, could not miss the opportunity to commiserate with others who loved the dead. So he sympathized and exchanged condolences, engaged in small talk and deep, meaningful conversations with strangers about the deceased, the ballet, and life itself. Every exchange had the underlying, familiar motivation to investigate, but Will surprised himself at how easy the rest came to him.

Social interaction had always been too much for him to handle, but now that he had brought his empathy to heel, he found it pleasantly useful. He knew almost instantly who was worth speaking with and who was a waste of time, and could guide the conversation to his own ends while keeping the other parties unaware of his manipulations. He felt like Hannibal. He also felt like Jack. He couldn’t lie to himself; it was an intoxicating sense of power.

Every so often, he’d glance over to Hannibal and watch him at work. To anyone who didn’t know, he must have come off like a compassionate, eloquent lover of the arts who offered comfort and understanding to those in mourning. But Will got a small thrill from seeing through it to the truth; that he was a cat on the prowl, flushing out his prey.

Near the end of the service, they caught one another’s eyes and retreated up the stairs, to the second floor that overlooked the main entrance.

“Anything particularly illuminating?” Will asked, leaning up against the banister and sipping his wine.

“Other than watching you fully embrace your empathy?” Hannibal said, echoing Will’s earlier musings. Will only grinned in acknowledgement; he’d long given up being surprised with Hannibal’s mind reading abilities. “It would seem that Maria and Alexander had many admirers. They had been paired together in several productions and their chemistry on stage was well renowned in the surrounding provinces. It was rumoured they were lovers, and the company did little to dispel that rumour."

Will nodded; he’d gathered this much. “But they were just rumours. They both had their own lovers, and both of them were men. Perhaps that’s why our killer lashed out; he discovered the love they conveyed on stage could only be an act.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true,” Hannibal said, bending forward on the banister and looking out on the crowd. “Maybe they were not compatible lovers in a carnal sense, but that does not mean that their love was any less real. By all accounts, their friendship ran deeper than any petty romantic fling. Dance is one of the most beautiful and sensual acts known to man. Perhaps dance was the only way they could physically express their love to their mutual satisfaction.”

Hannibal sipped his wine, and Will eyed him darkly. “You’re not remotely subtle, you know.”

“Why should I be? God clearly isn’t.” Hannibal countered, looking out at where they found themselves.

“Regardless,” Will said, pausing to collect his thoughts, “one of the other dancers confided to me that Maria was pregnant, and she was planning to keep it. She was scared it would get out that she wanted to marry her lover and bow out of the company for good.  One in the win column for petty romantic flings.”

This seemed to come as news to Hannibal, but he took it in stride. “What a waste of her beautiful gift.”

“Yes, god forbid that she be allowed to live beyond her talents and usefulness to others.” Will sneered. He tilted his head, considering. “Of course, if our killer somehow got word of her pregnancy, that is exactly how he would feel.”

Hannibal stood and indicated that they make their way back down the stairs. Will followed suit, nodding solemnly at the fellow mourners they passed.

Hannibal whispered to him quietly. “If knowledge of the pregnancy is what spurned our killer to action, we should focus on the small circle of people who had been charged with that secret.”

“Of course,” Will nodded in agreement. “The dancer I spoke to, Katrina, might be the best place to start.”

“Ahh yes, Katrina. I met her as well.” Hannibal’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. “She became much more interested in me once I told her we were friends.”

He surveyed Will, who looked at him curiously.

Hannibal continued. “I saw you speaking with her before I did. Your flirtations must have been even more convincing up close than they seemed from a distance, if you were able to wrest such sensitive information from her.”

There was a note of accusation in Hannibal’s tone, and Will flinched as if he’d been slapped.

“I…” Will huffed. But before he could construct a defense, Hannibal had moved away and left him no choice but to follow.

When he caught up, he found himself standing face-to-face with Katrina. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him, her breathing shallow, and Will realized that Hannibal was right; he really had done a number on her.

“Lovely Katrina,” Hannibal said as he took one of her hands in both of his.  “As sad as this occasion has been for all of us, I had to admit before I left that I am at least happy it granted me the opportunity to meet you.”

She nodded in earnest, and then Hannibal passed her hand along to Will, who took it despite his overwhelming wariness of the whole exchange.

Hannibal continued, beaming at them both. “I’ll also confide in you that my dear friend Will has confessed something similar to me, and so I shall leave you both to provide comfort to each other in this difficult time.”

Will fought all urges to protest, keeping his composure and smiling back at Katrina, who he couldn’t deny was quite attractive and certainly interested in him.

He felt Hannibal’s hand at the small of his back before his breath was in his ear, uttering almost imperceptibly. “Hunting and pleasure should go hand-in-hand, Will. Enjoy yourself tonight and I shall see you in the morning.”

Will only had a brief moment to stare in shock and confusion as Hannibal turned to leave him before he was once again swept up in the tide of social pleasantries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this far :) More to come! I'll do my best to get the next few chapters up ASAP


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kudos and comments on the last chapter! 
> 
> Heads up: this was a particularly tricky chapter to write, and it may be almost as rough to read. Feel free to take it out on me in the comments. Don't worry though; happier (??) chapters to come!

The moon was full. Time had become an abstract concept to Will of late, but seeing the clouds part to reveal the pale, round sphere gave him something solid to grasp on to in the fluid haze.

A month since he’d killed. A month since he’d died. A month since he’d been reborn.

Will suspected the banquet that lay before him now was in honour of such an occasion.

“Shall I chastise you about letting your dinner get cold?” Hannibal asked, fork and knife in hand. But if he was genuinely irritated that Will hadn’t touched his plate, his voice didn't reflect it.

Will tore his eyes away from the moon to stare at Hannibal’s culinary artistry. Without knowing much about the various prepared dishes, Will could at least appreciate that Hannibal had taken to the local cuisine with his signature flare. Tropical fruits and vegetables elegantly decorated the table, accented with colourful flowers and leaves. Prominently displayed in the center was the head of a reef shark, whose meat had been cut into steaks and set alongside the other meat that Hannibal insisted must accompany celebrations such as these.

“Yes, how rude of me to let my mind wander in the presence of a feast.” Will tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Apologies to any cold-blooded apex predators at the table.”

Hannibal smirked and Will wryly sipped his wine.

He picked up his knife and fork and dug into the meal. A welcome breeze passed through the night air, and Will took another moment to appreciate their surroundings as he ate.

A different cove, a different island, but the beach home they’d found was as beautiful as the last one with the benefit of guaranteed privacy. The owner was a committed recluse. He was also currently stuffed into the freezer; or at least, parts of him were. This didn’t concern Will. In a past life, the man had been an especially unethical executive Wall Street banker. The destruction he had wrought on humanity was beyond what even Hannibal Lecter could fathom.

Will grinned inwardly at the thought of the banker being caught in Hannibal’s snare. He wished he’d been mobile and able to witness it firsthand. He wasn’t off the sedatives yet, but the dosage had been lowered enough that he had the freedom to move of his own accord. He should be fairly useless in a fight, and wouldn’t get far if he attempted an escape. But he’d also made it clear through his cooperation that he had no intention of doing either.

Will, gifted as he was at understanding abnormal states of consciousness, was well aware that he was displaying textbook symptoms of Stockholm syndrome. But he was finally embracing the fact that he’d succumbed to that particular affliction years before he had woken up on the boat.

His thoughts wandered to Chiyoh at the end of the dock, still standing guard with her riffle on the deck of the boat. God, Will hoped he didn’t seem as pathetic as he viewed her. He’d freed her from Hannibal’s mental prison only for her to construct herself a new one. Or at least fashion herself a long leash.

He wondered if that’s why she resented him so much; unlike her, Hannibal had been grooming him to run wild and free.

“Your mind is wandering again,” Hannibal commented after another long pause. “I’m curious to know if it’s on a leisurely stroll, or if it’s holed up in some deep, dark, cavernous place.”

Will met Hannibal’s gaze and considered. “More like wading into shallow waters, testing to see whether it's going to sink or swim.”

Hannibal swirled his wine. “Either way, you’ve been caught up in the current, Will. No swimming back to shore.”

“I know,” Will replied sincerely. “Nothing there for me anyway.”

“That’s not true," Hannibal countered. "We have former lovers anticipating definitive news of our survival. Two lovers each, if we’re keeping score." He grinned wickedly. "Although with a single visit, we could kill two birds with one stone.”

Will did his best to keep his composure, but he knew Hannibal could see him twitching at the suggestion. He waited until he could reply with cool detachment.

“You should know, I don’t have any intentions on helping you keep your promise to Alana. Or orphaning Margot’s child.” Will focused on carving into a new slab of meat. “Your plans for Dr. Du Maurier, however, I have no problems abiding.”

Will thought of Bedelia and her lecture, how she had made a fortune off her self-inflicted victimhood while he had lived daily under suspicion and scorn. He recalled her pointed jabs and resentful digs over his complex feelings regarding Hannibal. He reflected on her accusatory tone when she’d diagnosed him as pathological.

He was curious to know how satisfied the look on her face would be upon discovering that she had been right. Will took a bite of shark and made a show of savouring it as he swallowed.

“Actually, I insist on being present when you see that one through.”

Hannibal watched his mouth with rapt attention. Will began to inwardly congratulate himself on the deflection before Hannibal’s tone lowered.

“And your wife?”

Will looked away, out at the water. He’d been dreading this conversation, but Hannibal had seemingly made a point to not bring her up. Which had suited Will fine; he’d made a point to think of her as little as possible.

“’Til death do us part,” Will replied glibly, hoping that would be it.

Hannibal wasn’t letting him off that easily. “But you are not dead, Will. Molly is still your wife. You are bound to her. Even here, in your new life with me, a part of you still belongs to her.”

Will took a beat to size Hannibal up. Without ego, he noted, “You sound jealous.”

Hannibal sliced into the steak. “Molly surely finds the notion of sharing you as displeasing as I do. Even as we both understand that each of us can help you fulfil needs that the other can’t satisfy.”

At those words, the knot Will had felt forming in his stomach sharply twisted. After their exchange on the beach, which he had been reliving with fevered intensity in his drug-addled dreams ever since, Will had expected to find Hannibal’s attentions more suggestive than ever before. Even in his most lucid moments, he found himself pondering at great length on how he would navigate those situations should they arise, and was intrigued by some of the scenarios he realized he could be comfortable with exploring.

But to his surprise, Hannibal’s touch had become as innocuous as ever, and less and less frequent as Will had been gaining back bits of independence. Will couldn’t tell if the sensuality he felt in those moments was his empathy genuinely kicking in, or if he had merely been projecting his expectations. One thing he knew for sure was the uncertainty was frustrating as all hell.

Not knowing what he wanted either also helped nothing, but Will needed to communicate something to relieve the odd twinge he’d felt at Hannibal’s words.

“I’ve chosen what’s most important to me,” Will declared. “Shouldn’t that be enough?”

“We all have the capacity to reverse our choices,” Hannibal retorted, “until that choice is no longer a viable option.”

Will tried to cover his concern with a derisive laugh. “Don’t tell me you’ve become petty enough to suddenly demand a sacrifice.”

Hannibal eyed him knowingly. “I’m not the one who requires a sacrifice. Tell me, Will, did slaying the Dragon placate your bloodlust, or do you still fantasize about changing your wife the way he would?”

Will shot him a bitter glare, but the time for defensiveness between them had long since passed.

He closed his eyes and steeled himself, imaging being lovingly wrapped up in his wife’s warm embrace. As it had since he’d first exposed himself to Dolarhyde’s work, the sentimental moment gave way to screams, images of Molly changed at his feet like Mrs. Leeds and Mrs. Jacobi, while he reveled in the sensation of blood dripping off his every extremity.

Will came back to himself, noticing he was calmer than he’d been when he’d imagined such horrors in the past. That unsettled him more than anything. 

“The Dragon did not die with Dolarhyde,” Will admitted, slowly enunciating each word. “But if Reba was able to survive the Dragon, I have to believe that Molly would too.”

“Clever Molly has already survived one encounter with the Dragon,” Hannibal reasoned. “Do you think he has the mercy to spare her a second time?”

Will’s voice quieted to a whisper, his breathing measured. “I have no intention of ever finding out.”

Hannibal gave him a long look of disappointment. Rising to stand, he started collecting bits of each dish onto a clean plate. Finally, he spoke.

“Actions often betray intentions. Should you find yourself in the presence of your wife again, for your sake, I hope to see your intentions and actions aligned.”

Will glared as Hannibal placed the plate onto an elegant silver tray, walking from their outdoor patio onto the dock to take Chiyoh her meal.

He’d been playing this game long enough to read into Hannibal’s words and know they were a promise. 

Given enough time, one day Hannibal would orchestrate a situation where Will would encounter Molly and he would have to face the Dragon’s hunger for her. Would he be able to fight it off? Would he be able to share the Dragon’s glory with her in a way she could survive? Would being at Hannibal’s side for however long mean that he wouldn’t even bother battling his urge to kill her?

Hannibal wouldn't be able to resist the temptation of such an outcome. The satisfaction he’d derive would be immeasurable. He’d consider it his crowning achievement.

Red hot rage bubbled under the surface of Will’s cool exterior.

From his seat, Will looked to Hannibal, strolling confidently along the length of the dock. He looked to Chiyoh, riffle in hand, ready to pounce at any threat to her mentor. He looked to the moon, reminding himself that Molly wasn’t the only one that Dolarhyde had failed to kill.

Before Will knew what he was doing, he found adrenaline fighting every drop of sedative circulating his system as he barreled down the dock. His body slammed into Hannibal’s and they both tumbled off the side, crashing into the waves along the sandy shore.

Hannibal hit the water first, with Will on top of him, the two creating a splash in a tangle of limbs. Will had never stood a chance against the larger man, even in a fair fight, but gravity and the element of surprise were on his side now. He rose to stand, the water only reaching just above his calves, and before Hannibal could gain his bearings, Will brought his knee to Hannibal’s face. Hannibal flipped over at the force of it, back hitting the water in another loud splash.

As Will recovered from the recoil, he had the dim awareness of something whizzing past his ear. As explosions sounded behind him along the sand, he followed their source back to the boat, where Chiyoh had her riffle aimed directly at his head.

Good, he thought, noting that his heartbeat was strong but steady. Self-preservation was the last thing on his mind.

He dove at Hannibal before he could sit up out of the water. Will collapsed on top of him, crouching on Hannibal's stomach and pinning him down at his sides with both of his knees. Bunching up Hannibal’s shirt in one of his fists, he used the other to lay into his face with wreckless abandon.

Every tender touch and caring embrace Hannibal had extended to Will was repaid with glorious brutality. The immense gratification of finally, after all this time, channeling all his rage into action was beyond anything Will had experienced before. He’d fantasized about it so often, so vividly, he sometimes forgot that they had never actually come to physical blows.

But now he realized he never would have forgotten this savage pleasure had he truly experienced it before. Not even the intimacy of murdering Randall Tier compared. He couldn’t believe he had been willing to deny this to himself when he’d dragged them both off the cliff. If Will was going to die now, he’d do so in the throes of ecstasy.

When Hannibal looked good and fully wrecked, Will dropped him and pushed hard into his chest against the sand, forcing his head to submerge in the shallow waves. Will watched with righteous elation as Hannibal fought to reach the surface, his limbs flailing uselessly as Will held him underwater. Hannibal’s hands grasped at his arms and shoulders as he struggled to hold his breath, and Will shook him hard against the seabed, forcing his wicked mouth to open and water to rush into his lungs.

The struggling continued, but Will smiled as he felt it dissipate, Hannibal’s grasp on him weakening even as it grew more frantic. Soon, Will's unfinished business would be resolved and he could leave this life in peace.

It was then he realized that he hadn’t heard shots in several moments. At least one should have landed by now. He looked to the boat and saw Chiyoh standing, immobile, her riffle unassuming at her side. They locked eyes, and then she dropped it pointedly on the ground before turning away altogether.

For whatever reason, she was going to let Hannibal die. She was going to allow Will to kill him, and leave him to live with the aftermath.

He’d be doomed to walk the world a monster without the comfort of his creator.

_Can’t live with him. Can’t live without him._

Anguish engulfed him as he looked down through the water into Hannibal’s lifeless face. He instantly let go and jumped back, regret seeping into him with each panicked breath.

No, this wasn’t how it ended. Not again. Not this time.

He grabbed Hannibal’s limp arm and hooked it around his neck, working off little more than pure adrenaline to haul them both to the shoreline. When they were clear of the water, Will allowed himself only a second to find focus before he started pumping forcefully on Hannibal’s chest with his palms. Tilting his head back and pinching his nose, Will tried to breathe life back into the man that had so radically transformed his.

Only a few more pumps were needed before Hannibal was coughing up water. Will helped him to his side so he didn’t choke it back down. Before Hannibal was even done clearing his lungs, Will clung to him desperately, burying his sopping head into Hannibal’s shoulder. He clutched at his back and his chest, worshiping the miracle of his laboured breathing. The rush of relief he felt in that moment was so intoxicating, he nearly fainted.

Hannibal shifted them from the awkward position and grabbed Will’s face in his hands. He half expected Hannibal to break his neck. He didn't even care; if that was to be his punishment, he'd more than earned it.

Instead, Hannibal gently brushed the dripping curls from Will’s face and looked deep into his eyes. Will was confused. He didn't see fury or hurt, but a relief that mirrored his own. 

Voice rough and cracking, Hannibal whispered, "I've been waiting weeks for you to try that." 

As soon as he said it, Will realized he already knew that to be true. Hannibal had baited him. And he had fallen for it completely.

Will didn’t have any words; no retorts or rants or apologies. All he had to offer were sobs of despair as he collapsed in the warm embrace of the man he just couldn’t seem to kill.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks again for reading, and the comments and the kudos! 
> 
> I know that for a lot of you, the beginning of this chapter is not what you signed up for when you started this fic, but I promise we will get there eventually ;)

Fevered excitement blurred the events that had brought Will back to Katrina’s apartment. They entered her quaint studio a tangle of limbs, forgoing the etiquette or pretensions that had normally preceded Will’s admittedly limited experience with one night stands.

Will’s empathy had always led to confusion in these situations. The raw intimacy of sex left him powerless to shield himself from the emotions of his partner and, worse still, unable to disentangle them from his own feelings. Earlier, he had been proud of how he had been able to utilize empathy as a tool, but Katrina’s flirtations had made him realize that he hadn’t quite mastered it yet. The young woman needed him desperately and immediately, and every moment in her presence had Will further feeding off her arousal and amplifying his own. Her desire to be taken by him had all too quickly been matched by his desire to take her.

Kissing with wild abandon, Will pressed Katrina up against the door, and she gave a satisfied groan at the small display of force. His leaned hard into her, the erection trapped in his tailored dress pants straining between them. She slid her left leg up the side of him, grinding her pelvis against his. He shuddered at the friction, pulling back from the kiss to look down at her through lidded eyes.

Katrina was absolutely stunning, with her mane of long, thick dark curls and large, round brown eyes that were expressive enough for Will to get lost in for days. She possessed a dancer’s body, slim and subtly curved, graceful but with a hidden strength. The elegant black dress she wore for the memorial had turned from tasteful to tantalizing in the span of moments, but as Will followed the red flush in her cheeks down to the top of her heaving chest, he wanted nothing more than to tear it off.

“Please,” she begged, accent thick and voice needy, and Will didn’t need to be told twice. He slid one strap over her shoulder and down her arm, leaning in to suck at the nape of her neck. She gasped with pleasure, throwing her head back, wrapping her leg tighter around him and pulling their hips even closer.

One of Katrina’s hands tangled in his curls, messing up his carefully groomed hairstyle. Kissing her again on the lips, Will felt her wildly tug and claw at his jacket, and he moved to allow her to pull it off him with force and letting her drop it to the floor. He chuckled inwardly as he imagined Hannibal being unimpressed at the disregard Katrina was showing for the suit he’d picked out just for him.

As they moved from the doorway to her bed, lips barely breaking contact for even a few seconds, Will tried to push Hannibal from his mind, but found the task surprisingly difficult. Will was here at his suggestion, but he couldn’t fathom why. At the mere mention of Katrina, Hannibal had been radiating jealousy. Will couldn’t reconcile someone as destructively possessive as Hannibal being at all willing to share.  What dark game was he playing?

Will’s knees hit the edge of the bed and he collapsed onto it. Katrina straddled his hips, debauched and hungry, kissing him while unceremoniously unknotting his tie. The action stood in stark contrast to earlier that evening, when Hannibal had witnessed Will briefly fumble at tying it. Without asking, Hannibal had provided a firm but gentle hand in helping him finish, smoothing out any visible creases, making him look presentable and taking clear pride in Will’s polished appearance. Will, having stopped denying to himself that he appreciated Hannibal’s attention, had merely soaked up the praise.

Bringing his mind back to the present, Will ran his hands up Katrina’s sides and along her back, finding the zipper and yanking it down as far as it could go in their current positions. Splaying his hands across the soft skin he exposed, he felt a new wave of arousal pour off her, causing him to grab her and flip them both, moving to trap her body against the bed with his own.

Will felt a rush of perverse pleasure at being in the dominant position after months of being submissive to another’s touch. Maybe that was why Hannibal was allowing it. He’d always seemed to know Will better than he knew himself, and maybe he’d realized before Will had that he needed to feel in control. And since Hannibal was not one to relinquish control…

Will’s mouth was back on Katrina’s, ravenous and wanting, moaning into her mouth as her legs wrapped around his hips again. Running his hand up her leg, he pushed the skirt of her dress up along her smooth, supple thigh. Settling the stiffness still trapped in his pants against her barely-shielded heat, he ground into her and elicited moans from them both. Will closed his eyes at the friction, imagining how wonderful Katrina would feel around him, enveloping him. He had gone months without that most primal desire being fulfilled, and he was ready to succumb.

His eyes fluttered open and the sensation of Katrina’s hands on his neck, pulling at his collar to undo the top buttons of his dress shirt, and he stared down at her in all her glory. Mirrors carefully placed over her eyes and mouth, Will tenderly caressed her soft, cold face, smearing the blood that dripped at each corner with his thumb, reverently tracing red patterns on her cheeks. The reflection he saw of himself in the shards was a man of pure animalistic lust, finally able to take what was rightfully his.

Suddenly, Will scrambled away from Katrina in a frenzy, batting her needy hands from him and leaping backwards off the bed. His panting quickly went from aroused to panicked, and he clutched at his face, willing the hallucination to disappear. With great focus, he was able to blink the mirror shards and blood away, but it didn’t matter. What Will had seen couldn’t be unseen.

“What’s wrong?” Katrina asked in a huff, concerned but also visibly displeased.

“I…” Will fumbled to speak, remembering to affect the English accent he’d been using as a cover. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this…it’s not…I have to go.”

Whatever Katrina shouted at him as he barrelled out of the apartment was lost. Without much conscious thought, his feet carried him down the stairs of her building, across the square, and into the lobby of the only hotel in the village. He leaped up the stairs two at a time until he reached the fifth floor landing and burst into the open hotel room. He found Hannibal seated at the piano he’d insisted on having brought up, no matter the inconvenience, playing something classical Will couldn’t identify but frenetic enough to match his state of mind.

Hannibal seemed genuinely surprised at the sight of him and paused mid-song. “Will?”

“Did you know?” Will asked, his voice dripping with venom.

“Know what?”

“Stop toying with me and tell me what you did!” Will spat accusingly.

“Lower your voice, Will,” Hannibal replied calmly but sternly. “The walls are thin and you’ve likely already raised enough eyebrows in this hotel tonight.”

When Will signalled angrily that he didn’t know what Hannibal was referring to, Hannibal indicated behind him to the mirror handing on the wall. Will took himself in; his once-groomed hair was chaos, his shirt was half open and crumpled, and he had several stains of red lipstick covering his face, neck and lips. He’d probably bumped into half a dozen people looking like an utterly disheveled mess.

He caught Hannibal staring at him disapprovingly in the mirror. Will spun on him, voice low. “Don’t give me that look. Just because I played right into your hands…”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hannibal said, voice clipped, “and clearly you don’t either, if you believe this is what I wanted.”

Will shook his head, pacing frantically around the hotel room. “No, you did this to me. You don’t want me wanting anyone but you, so you made me see it.”

“What did you see?” Hannibal asked, seemingly in earnest.

Will scoffed at the feigned ignorance and dodged the question. “Why else would you manipulate me into sleeping with Katrina?”

“Manipulate you?” Hannibal tilted his head, seemingly confused. “I believe I was playing the role of a ‘wing man.’ I thought I played my part rather convincingly. You did too, by the looks of it.”

Will felt slightly disarmed at the way Hannibal leered at him, unhappy but hungry all the same. It reinforced what he knew to be true. “You don’t want to be my wingman. You don’t want anyone touching me but you.”

“No,” Hannibal admitted freely. “I don’t.”

“Then why?” Will asked again, forcefully. “Why go out of your way to make it happen?”

“I often have many reasons for doing any one particular thing,” he answered casually. “Tell me the motivation you are accusing me of and perhaps I can help to dispel it.”

Will tried to choose his words carefully, knowing that if there was a way around outright lying, Hannibal would take it. “Did you, in any way, orchestrate my wanting to…change…Katrina?”

Hannibal’s brows raised in mild surprise, his voice bordering on hopeful. “Oh, did you kill her?”

“No,” Will said, narrowing his gaze. He noted Hannibal’s small deflation. “But I saw her, for a second, how Dolarhyde made me see Molly. How _you_ wanted me to see Molly.”

Hannibal looked at him curiously. “Did you want to kill her?”

Will thought on it and shook his head. “No, I wanted to fuck her, and then, out of nowhere, imagined her dead by my hand. It was practically Pavlovian.”

“And then you ran to me to confess those urges,” Hannibal offered.

“Because you’re responsible for their existence.”

“And because you know I’m the only one who won’t judge you for having them.”

“Yes,” Will agreed. “How convenient for you.”

Hannibal responded with a casual cadence. “Will, I won’t deny that it was one of several considerations I had. And I won’t claim innocence on hoping for this outcome, either. But your beautifully imaginative mind didn’t require any further conditioning from me. I thought I had made it clear that we are past that now.”

Will laughed darkly. “I don’t think I’ll ever know where you and I are with any certainty.”

“We’re with each other,” Hannibal answered simply. “That’s all that matters.”

Will had so many reasons to not buy any of it. “You really expect me to believe that you didn’t somehow psychologically manipulate me.”

“Not in this specific instance, no,” Hannibal answered, seemingly sincere. “Whatever you are experiencing is of your own making. I suggest you embrace it.”

Will slumped into the seat of the chair he’d been leaning against, propping his elbows on his knees and hooking his hands behind his head. He tried to sort through the jumble of emotions he had coursing through him. “So, hypothetically, if I could sleep with a woman without threatening her safety, you’re saying you would actually allow that?”

Hannibal’s face twitched, clearly finding the thought unpleasant. “It’s often said love is about compromise.”

Will snorted. “You’re not someone who does well with compromise.”

“Even the most rigid of materials will bend under the right pressures,” Hannibal said, finally sitting on the couch opposite him. “Tell me, Will, are you feeling frustrated right now? Unsatisfied?”

“Of course I am,” Will growled. He’d lost his erection pretty quickly after bolting from Katrina’s, but the feeling of arousal still lingered. “I was denied a much needed sense of completion.”

“You denied yourself, and came straight here,” Hannibal countered, and Will wondered for a second if he was going to offer to finish the job. If he wasn’t so angry, he was desperate enough that he might have even said yes. Instead, Hannibal asked, “How many different ways have you imagined killing me since your grand entrance a few moments ago?”

Will inhaled sharply, feeling like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. After a moment, he answered, his voice rough. “Six.”

Hannibal hummed knowingly. “And how many of those did you seriously consider?”

Will swallowed thickly as he mulled it over. Clenching and unclenching his fist, he finally admitted. “At least two.”

He hoped Hannibal wasn’t going to ask him to describe them in detail. But his twisted therapist only nodded solemnly, jaw tightening.

“You have many needs beyond your compulsion to kill, Will. With your pathology, denying satisfaction to one of your baser urges will force you to seek it with another. And we both know whose death would grant you the greatest satisfaction.”

Will looked away, letting the truth of Hannibal’s words settle over him. He took slow, long breaths, willing himself to calm down, imagining a cool wave washing away any residual arousal and rage.

“Better I satisfy my sexual urges with someone else than satiate my murderous impulses with you?”

“Yes,” Hannibal answered, resigned. “If those are our only options.”

Of course, there was another alternative, but it hung unspoken between them.

Will shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, we have a dilemma then, because it’s not worth risking Katrina’s life for an orgasm.”

Hannibal let out a small chuckle. “Oh I’m not so sure about that.”

Will rolled his eyes. “Hannibal…”

“Will, we both know what your encounter with Katrina was to you,” Hannibal said, cutting off his protests. “In the haze of your arousal, did you manage to sense what it meant to her?”

Will shrugged to cover his slight blush. “It was a memorial, she had just lost her friend.”

“And while you were both…” Hannibal indicated Will’s state of disarray with a tinge of distaste, “…did she at all read like she was stricken with grief?”

Will searched his mental recollection of the encounter, trying to think back before they’d kissed on the steps of the theatre. “No…” he said, thinking aloud. “She was putting on a show to mask how she really felt, but I thought that was about me….”

He felt stupid and vain as soon as he said it, but if Hannibal agreed, he didn’t show it. He only asked “How did she really feel?”

In his mind, Will tried to pull back the layers of her emotions, working hard to sort through them and keep the separate from his own. At once, he saw it, and he sunk into the chair at the realization. “Victorious.”

Hannibal nodded in agreement, pleased. “Yes, I smelled victory on her as well.”

“But she’s not the killer, I would have sensed that for sure.” Will grew discontent as he started reconstructing her state of mind, able to do so without the clutter of other emotions. “She didn’t intend for Maria and Alexander to die, but she’s happy anyway because she knows that somehow she’ll benefit.”

“You said ‘intend,’” Hannibal noted. “Perhaps that means…”

But Will had already arrived at that conclusion. “She told the killer about Maria’s pregnancy, hoping he would act in a different way. And now that Maria's dead, she's been telling everyone to muddy the waters.”  He quirked an eyebrow. “I guess my flirtations weren’t that convincing after all.”

“Don’t sell your charms short yet,” Hannibal teased. “You’ll need to rely on their potency if you intend to discover the first person she leaked Maria's secret to.”

Will rose to stand, looking hesitantly at the door. “You’re suggesting I head back over there? To investigate?”

Will wasn’t sure he was ready for that, given the heady mixture of thoughts and emotions swirling inside him. But if he was going to do it, he knew he had to act quickly, or his opening with Katrina would soon shut.

“You are on a hunt, Will, and as fortune would have it, you have just stumbled on the fast-fading footprints of your prey.” Hannibal sighed and stood as well, searching for a place to rest his hand. He settled on the innocuous safety of Will’s shoulder. “I suggest that you head back to Katrina’s so, for both our sake, you can satisfy at least one of your baser urges.”


	8. Chapter 8

The sun was setting over the tropical horizon, painting the sky in bold splashes of yellows, oranges, reds, blues and purples. The once bright green palm trees lining either side of the cove became dark silhouettes against the new night sky. The rolling waves of the ocean broke at the crescent opening of the cove, the rippling waters that licked the sands on the inside were mere echoes of their former selves.

When Will found Hannibal, he was sitting on the beach, planted on the exact spot where Will had revived him.  Casually splayed on the sand, propped up by his arms behind him and taking in the beauty of their ocean hideaway, Hannibal looked triumphant. And somehow the proud display of cuts and bruises on his face only added to the vibe of smugness.

Barefoot, Will stepped through the soft, white sand and caught his eye, wordlessly indicating the space beside him. He held up the bottle he’d been drinking from, his self-inflicted substitute for the now abandoned sedatives. Hannibal smiled, nodding for Will to take a seat.

Will handed the Hannibal one of the two items he had just hastily bound in tissue paper, watching as the other man curiously unwrapped it.

“Found these in the upstairs closet while I was scrounging around for more liquor,” Will said, finally breaking the silence he’d maintained since nearly drowning Hannibal two days earlier. He unwrapped his own simultaneously. “They’re not up to your normal standards for glassware, but I thought you might appreciate them anyway.”

Hannibal chuckled as he inspected the clear, double-walled [shot glass](http://www.thegreenhead.com/imgs/doomed-crystal-skull-shot-glass-1.jpg); while its exterior wall was round, the interior was indented into the distinct shape of a skull. He grinned when he noticed Will’s was identical to his own.

Will uncorked his half-empty bottle and filled Hannibal’s shot glass before re-filling his own. “I know tequila’s probably not your drink either. Probably lacking sophistication.”

Will dug the bottle in the sand. He clinked their glasses before hastily taking the shot. Was that number seven or eight? He’d lost count.

“On the contrary, I think of it as a rare treat,” Hannibal replied, sipping the contents of his glass with care and appreciation.

Will noticed traces of roughness in his voice that lingered from when he’d held him underwater. He hardly felt remorseful, given that Hannibal had manipulated him into it. Concepts of guilt and hate were slowly eroding away in the recesses of Will’s mind.

After another sip, Hannibal elaborated. “The blue agave plant used to make tequila has been under threat recently, with many farmers burning their entire crops in response to both disease and changing demands in the market. In a decade’s time, tequila may be one of the rarest distilled beverages on the planet.”

“Huh,” Will mused, before picking up the bottle again and pouring himself more. “More responsible if I slow down then, given the dwindling supply.”

Of course, he wasn’t going to. Will downed the shot in one swig.

“Awareness of a resource’s finiteness should never dissuade one’s full indulgence,” Hannibal advised, finishing his off and holding out his glass, prompting Will to refill it too. “Not savouring something as one burns through it? _That_ is the sin.”

“No concern for sustainability?” Will probed, tracing the lip of his glass with his thumb.

“Not as a priority,” Hannibal answered, “Too many variables and pressures act over time for anything to be sustained indefinitely. Best to give in to the eventuality of chaos.”

Will considered, looking out at the horizon. “If I give myself over to chaos completely, that’s it for you and me.”

“Planning on dragging us both into the ocean again, Will?” Hannibal teased. “Third time’s the charm.”

Will managed a short laugh. “I think it’s getting old.”

Hannibal let a beat pass. “But you still feel the urge to kill me.”

It wasn’t a question.

Will turned to meet Hannibal’s gaze dead on. “A part of me will always want to. And the other part can’t stand to be without you. The relative power of either part over me seems to be in a steady state of flux.”

Hannibal surveyed him like he would a wounded predator. “That flux is as unsustainable as anything. With any two opposing forces, given enough time, one will eventually succumb to the other.”

“And in both cases, I succumb right along with it,” Will commented bitterly. “What’s to be done about that?”

Hannibal tilted his head knowingly, as if the answer was obvious. “If our time together is a finite resource, our best course of action is to indulge ourselves completely, surrendering to every impulse and desire.”

Will inhaled slowly and looked down. He needed confidence for what he was about to say, and Hannibal’s gaze was disarming.

“Let me be clear,” he said evenly. “If any harm comes to Molly, from either of us, I’ll put a gun in my mouth and pull the trigger. I’m not a coward like Dolarhyde; it won’t be for show.”

Letting the promise settle between them, he poured himself another shot. Eventually, he chanced a glance sideways and caught Hannibal sizing him up, his glare cold and calculating.

After a moment, Hannibal gave him a nearly imperceptible nod. “Understood.”

Will tried to get a read on Hannibal, see if he believed what he was saying or if Will was going to need to press the issue. But if Hannibal didn’t take his words at face value, or if he was scheming to undermine them somehow, Will couldn’t sense it.

He nodded back in acknowledgement.

“Besides,” Will said, lightening his tone, “I wouldn’t be able to keep up with you, anyway. Not at maximum indulgence.” Shifting from his cross-legged position, he stretched his legs out before him and leaned back onto his arms, mirroring Hannibal’s pose. “My appetite still hasn’t quite caught up to yours.”

“No, I don’t believe it ever will,” Hannibal conceded. To Will’s surprise, he spoke without disappointment or judgement. “You may be more comfortable with the notion of harm befalling others, but your need to kill is not likely to evolve beyond wanting to do bad things to bad people.”

“Righteous violence,” Will said, echoing his other unorthodox therapist. He inspected his knuckles, bruised and torn from their many strikes to Hannibal’s face. “It does feel good.”

“You’ll be chasing that feeling for the rest of your life.” Hannibal took Will’s hand in his, and Will felt a familiar twist at the gesture. His cold confidence was slipping away as the tequila started to kick in. “As the one who helped cultivate that need, I’m responsible for seeing that it’s satisfied.”

“Even at your own expense?” Will asked needlessly. Hannibal had proven himself more than willing to risk his life to satisfy Will’s need for violence. Hell, he probably got off on it.

“Yes,” Hannibal grinned perversely, confirming Will’s suspicions. “Although, in the interest of sustainability, I suggest we seek out suitable substitutes.”

“Hunting together to take down the Randall Tiers and Francis Dolarhydes of the world.” Will considered, knowing this was what they were destined for as soon as he said it aloud. Not only did he see it as the only way forward, it actually sounded like fun. He added dryly, “Until one of us takes the other out."

Hannibal let out a small chuckle, watching him with adoration.

Will stared down at the strong hand that held his own, reflecting on all the comfort they provided him when they had done so much harm to him and to so many others.

“Your destructive tendencies…are they a need?” Will asked. Hannibal eyed him questioningly. “Are you capable of making the conscious decision to never harm another human being?”

Hannibal blinked. “Do you plan to ask this of me?”

“No.” Will wished he was, wished he could, but he answered honestly. “Just curious.”

Hannibal took a moment to consider the question, as if it had never crossed his mind. Will suspected it might be an act. There was no way that Hannibal Lecter, renowned psychotic psychiatrist, had no inkling of what kind of crazy he was.

“I suppose I’m capable of abstaining. But why would I want to? Other than for practical considerations.” Hannibal’s eyes absently searched the shoreline. “My particular pathology is a profound lack of inhibition, and I don’t expect that to change. I may not _need_ as you do, but I don’t deny myself anything. My wants have always included both beauty and destruction in equal measure.”

He ran his thumb delicately along the healing cuts on Will’s knuckles.

“I suppose that’s why I could never deny myself you.”

Will’s pulse raced at the admission, and then even more so as he realized Hannibal could likely sense it. The swirl of emotions he’d felt when Hannibal was stitching him up returned with a vengeance. His empathy was feeding off Hannibal’s feelings for him and blurring them with his own.

Even though he’d had insinuations from others about what it was he sensed, he needed Hannibal to name it. He needed to know if it was more than just desire. And the blessed half-empty bottle of tequila was granting him the boldness to ask.

He shifted in the sand, moving to face Hannibal full on. 

“Are you in love with me?”

Hannibal was caught off guard by the directness. They’d done nothing but dance around the question for over a month.

“Yes,” he answered, unabashedly.

Will’s breath hitched, but he said nothing.

Hannibal was bemused at Will’s speechlessness. “I thought that was rather obvious.”

After a moment, Will replied, “It never occurred to me that love was in your nature.”

He’d said the response defensively, but Hannibal’s reaction told Will it had stung.

“Love is selfish and impulsive and destructive. It’s seeing the other person for who they truly are and having no inhibitions in wanting them, in making them your own. All of this is well within my nature.” Hannibal searched his eyes. “Do you love me?”

“No,” Will responded in haste. However, seeing Hannibal recoil gave him a sharp, sudden need to reciprocate as much as he could. “Not love, but…”

Will didn’t need to search too long for the words. They had been at the forefront of his consciousness ever since he’d read Hannibal’s letter to him, daring him to try and stay away. And drunk as he was, Will couldn’t stop himself from letting them slip out.

“What I feel,” Will closed his eyes as the words left his lips, “It’s an addiction. I can’t seem to fight it, no matter how much…”His voice broke off, raw and pleading. “I _crave_ you.”

He opened his eyes to Hannibal’s intense gaze. After a long pause, Hannibal sighed in relief, eyes filling with an unrestrained warmth. He leaned forward, moving his hand to Will’s cheek, as he’d done so many times before. Will was too overwhelmed from his own confession to seek comfort in the gesture.

“Don’t you see?” Hannibal asked imploringly. “To love? To crave? They’re the same.”

Will’s every nerve was on fire, but he shook his head in protest. “The chaos I feel when I’m around you, or without you, is radically distinct from love.”

“Oh Will,” Hannibal stroked the stubble on Will’s cheek with his thumb, his tone light and teasing. “Still berating yourself for delighting in wickedness.”

“Still afraid that I might fall victim to it.” Will’s eyelids were heavy as he finally allowed himself to sink into the touch. Voice broken, he added, “It’s not as if the fear’s unfounded.”

“And yet, you still crave.” Hannibal remarked, insidious.  “Perhaps the fear is why you crave.”

Will’s heart raced at Hannibal’s words, knowing them to be true and hating himself for it. There was a thrill to the danger of being with Hannibal that Will had long denied he found alluring.

Hannibal moved closer to him, his eyes wandering as he took in Will’s full bodied reaction. His free hand hovered over Will’s exposed chest, down to his stomach and grazing lightly over his scar.

“Fear is what excites you,” Hannibal's voice was a heavy rasp. “Safety lacks passion.”

Fingers made delicate contact with his exposed skin, moving in time with Will’s shallow breathing. Will was paralyzed by the craving for his touch, seeking so much more than comfort. Instead, Hannibal pulled his hand away and planted it in the sand behind Will. Will’s ache at the denial was instantly abated when he realized that their faces were mere inches apart.

“Tell me, Will," Hannibal teased, "Would you ever say to me ‘stop, if you loved me, you’d stop?’”

“I might,” Will admitted, panting, “If I wanted you to stop.”

“And now?” Hannibal asked in earnest, lips hovering over Will’s.

“I’m unsure of what I want,” Will whispered, his eyes scanning the other man’s face for answers.

But Hannibal had never let Will’s uncertainty hold him back.

When Will finally felt Hannibal’s lips brush against his own, sparks shot through him, his nerves crackling like frayed wires. Hannibal’s kiss quickly devolved from chaste to hungry, and Will wanted nothing more than to finally give in.

But as sudden as the awareness came that he wanted it, he was struck with the epiphany that he couldn’t reciprocate.

Not because Hannibal was a man; Will’s erection strained against his zipper, informing him that his proclivities were as malleable as the rest of him. And not because Hannibal was a monster; if anything, Will’s fascination with Hannibal’s nature had evolved into a desire to know him in every way.

No, Will couldn’t allow it because this was the last part of him that Hannibal hadn’t dominated. Every other terrain had been conquered. In their eternal game of cat and mouse, Will Graham had conceded nearly everything to Hannibal Lecter. He’d had every win snatched out of his grasp, because his opponent had never once played fair.

As much as Will wanted in this moment, he knew Hannibal wanted more. And that gave Will control. A means of influence other than violence. An ace up his sleeve.

Will was going to withhold this one final victory for as long as he could.

He broke the kiss. “I can’t.”

Confused, Hannibal tried to pull him back in, but Will twisted away.

“Hannibal, stop, please.”

“Stop fighting, Will,” Hannibal begged, eyes closed, mouth pressed against Will’s cheek. “There’s no point anymore in denying yourself anything.”

“I know, but,” Will responded breathlessly, trying to calm down, steel himself, build back walls. He found the strength to lie. “But this isn't what I want.”

Hannibal stiffened against him, pulling away slowly. His eyes narrowed and leveled with Will’s, his gaze piercing. “You stink of arousal.”

Will closed his eyes, still panting, and nodded.

“I know, you’re right.” Will swallowed thickly. “But the arousal’s not mine. I’ve only been feeding off yours.”

He mustered up an apologetic tone to mask any trace of doubt.

“I don't truly crave you that way.”

If looks could kill, in that moment, Will would have been dead, roasted and eaten whole. Hannibal’s fury at the denial of him was so volatile, Will thought he might choke on it. His own fear was overwhelming, but instead of running from it, he bathed in it. He was playing with fire and felt a thrill at the thought of getting burned.

Will flinched when Hannibal finally moved, grabbing the bottle planted in the sand at Will’s side. He readied himself with his eyes shut, expecting to feel it smash across his face. But instead, all he heard was a dull pop.

Opening one eye, he watched Hannibal chug down the remaining tequila in a single gulp before tossing the bottle away. It landed next to the twin shot glasses, which lay abandoned at odd angles in the sand. 

Without even looking at Will, Hannibal rose to stand. When he finally found the strength to speak, his tone was severe. 

“I suggest you head back to the boat. Stay by Chiyoh's side. Don’t seek me out before morning.”

With that he turned and stumbled down the beach, mercifully leaving Will to deal with the aftermath of his actions. 

When Hannibal was far enough away, Will chanced a relieved grin. If he felt any guilt or regret, it was dull and unobtrusive. Despite the cocktail of untapped adrenaline and arousal still pumping through his veins, Will allowed a quiet sense of power to wash over him.

Finally, he had the upper hand.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer delay in posting, but I was writing these next two chapters simultaneously and decided to post them together. I expect something similar will happen for the next (and final) installment. We're in the home stretch here; I hope you've been enjoying the ride! 
> 
> Thanks again SO MUCH to all the readers who've been dropping me kudos and comments; I was pleasantly overwhelmed with the last batch. You guys are so sweet!! ^_^

When the doorway to Katrina’s apartment swung open, Will was met with silence and an exasperated glare.

“Mr. Granville.” Hair damp and arms crossed in a red silk robe, she gave Will an unimpressed once-over, noting the disheveled hair and lipstick stains he hadn’t bothered cleaning up.

Her eyes fell to the bouquet of roses and lilies in his hand, and he held it out to her as an apology. When she made no move to take it, however, he let it fall awkwardly at his side.

“I’m sorry. I can explain.” Will’s faux English accent was in full effect. He noted the subtle way she adjusted her stance, a sign she was defensive but considering hearing him out. Working up enough emotion in his voice to make it crack, Will dropped his gaze to the floor. “I recently lost my wife.”

Lips pursed, Katrina eventually let out a defeated, resigned sigh. Turning slowly, she walked back into her apartment, leaving the door wide open as an invitation for him to follow.

As Will hesitantly crossed the threshold, he heard the clicking sound of hooves echoing up the stairwell. His brow crinkled and he huffed in mild annoyance, but he made a point to audibly shut the front door before quietly turning the knob and pulling slowly, leaving it slightly, inconspicuously ajar.

He walked into the open space of the apartment, able to take it in as he’d failed to do the first time around. At the time, the room had been over-charged with erotic tension, a vibe that merely lingered in the wake of his hasty exit.

The space was small but cozy, overstuffed with antique furniture and decorated with tasteful artwork and figurines that all made some reference to ballet. The apartment wasn't overly impressive and no single item was particularly extravagant, yet Will somehow had the sense that Katrina came from money.

She returned from the kitchenette with two glasses of white wine, handing him one. Placing her own glass on the coffee table, she finally took the flowers.

“Are these from the memorial?” she asked, inspecting them curiously.

“Yes, actually,” Will replied sheepishly, playing up embarrassment as he took a sip. In reality, he’d wanted her to notice. “There weren’t any florists open this late.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “You should not have let that stop you. People do not lock their doors in this part of the country.”

“Mmm” he hummed, smiling awkwardly, “I will remember that for next time.”

Katrina’s shoulders relaxed as those words evidently relieved some of her insecurity. She walked back into the kitchenette, grabbing a vase on the way, and soon he heard the rush of water from the sink.

“Your wife; what happened?” Will heard Katrina call out before the tap was shut off. “If you do not mind me asking?”

“Home invasion,” he answered, able to harness the honest swell of emotion he felt at the memory. He stared down into his reflection in the wine. “She was shot and I couldn’t save her. My friend has been trying to help me move past it while we’ve been travelling, but the truth is I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully put it out of my mind.”

Katrina walked back into the room, flowers bursting from the vase, looking for a spot amongst the clutter to place it.

“I am sorry to hear that,” she offered reluctantly. “Such a tragedy is hard to forget. Were the authorities at least able to find the men responsible?”

Will snorted derisively, his tone dry as he took another sip. “Not so far.”

She gave him a sympathetic look, but Will felt that it was more of a courtesy than anything. She’d clearly heard enough. She hid it well, but as far as she was concerned, all that mattered was that Will was available.

In his past life, that lack of compassion would have been a complete turn off. Now, he found it useful.

As she moved to place the vase on one of the far dressers, he followed, scanning for anything that could give him more insight. On the wall near the window, he spotted a framed photo of her with her dance company, Maria and Alexander displayed prominently in the center.

“We’ve both suffered recent losses,” Will noted, returning her sympathy with more sincerity. “Had you known them long?”

“Yes, we grew up together,” she nodded solemnly. But without the haze of arousal, Will had the clarity to finally see her grief for the mask it was. “We were all taking the same ballet classes from the time we were children. It will be….strange, dancing in a production without Maria as the star.”

Her voice was laced with emotion that Will knew most people would mistake for sadness, but all he heard was a heavy sigh of relief. Katrina’s use of ‘strange’ had been a euphemism for ‘liberating.’ She was using all her energy to conceal a resentment she had clearly held on to for years. One that hadn’t abated in light of Maria’s death. She clearly didn't regret spilling the secret of her pregnancy, despite the horrific outcome.

It was cold, but not damning on its own. Will needed more to go on.

He finally caught up to her by the dresser, smiling at flowers. “Still though, the show must go on.”

“Yes,” Katrina sighed. “Our company is under pressure to replace the principal dancers soon. They are holding auditions the day after tomorrow.” She turned to face him, eying him carefully and not so subtly slipping back to flirtation.  “You should come and watch. I would be curious to know what you thought of my performance.”

Will looked at her bemusedly. “Do they traditionally allow the public to observe these auditions?”

“No,” she said, teasing. Reaching out, she slid her hands up his chest and along his shoulders. “But they make exceptions for donors to the theatre. Or potential donors, as the case may be.”

Will tried not to flinch, but he looked away awkwardly, searching for an escape. Behind Katrina, he caught his reflection in a small mirror. As he felt her hands clasp around the back of his neck, the center of the mirror split, cracking as if something had stepped on thin ice.

Katrina leaned in closer. “Your friend, Mr. Smythe, told me the two of you were interested in becoming patrons of the arts and looking to our company before Maria and Alexander were found.”

She boldly pressed up against him, her silk robe starting to slip open.

“You should know we are happy to accept your donation, Mr. Granville, if you are still interested in giving.” Her breath was hot in his ear. “Or, at least, I am.”

Even as it hit him that this was _why_ she had been so desperate for him, Will couldn’t shield himself completely from her desire. Despite her overall coldness, in that moment, Katrina radiated a blistering heat. As her mouth once again moved to his neck, Will’s eyes fluttered shut and he sucked in a breath.

But a familiar, whirling rush of wind sounded out to him from the hallway outside the apartment, and his eyes quickly popped back open out of guilt and fear. Both of which were only amplified when he caught himself in the mirror again, the crack quickly spreading out into a spider web and fracturing his reflection a hundred times over.

This time, however, Will had more self-control when he slowly, delicately peeled her off him, clasping her hands together. “I’m sorry, Katrina,” he said, kissing the top of her knuckles. “I want to, but it’s too soon.”

She huffed, and Will saw her for the young woman she was; a girl who was used to rejection but still stung by it every time. He worried he may need to more stern in his denial of her, but after a moment, she nodded apologetically.

“You can make it up to me by bringing me fresher flowers to the audition.” He forced a laugh, but she was serious. “I really could use all the support I can get.”

“It’s a date. But I should go…” Will rushed to exit as gracefully as he could manage. Having mined his connection with Katrina for evidence without breaking down, he now needed to get out of there as soon as possible. “I look forward to seeing you then.”

“Wait!” Katrina called out when he was halfway to the door. “You forgot your jacket.”

Will turned back around, genuinely feeling awkward but forcing himself to wait. He would be risking both their lives if he forgot the jacket Hannibal picked out for him in Katrina’s apartment. He watched her pull it off a large object on the dresser closest to him, and his brows knitted together as he worked out what it was.

Now on display was a large, ornate golden cage. Inside was an immobile white dove, wings spread as if permanently readying itself to take flight. The bird was stuffed, frozen forever in a moment that captured its beauty and glory. At the base of the cage was a tiny inscription that Will couldn’t understand.

“May I ask what that says?” he said as casually as he could manage after he took his jacket from her.

Katrina visibly stiffened at the request, but she acquiesced. First reading the words verbatim, she then translated with a tinge of melancholy. “’To my dearest Katrina; may all your dreams take flight.’”

As she said it aloud, Will saw Katrina in his mind’s eye, sitting gloomily on the bird’s perch as golden rods materialized around her to form an identically ornate cage.

“It was a gift from my Uncle Dmitry when I joined the company.”

“It’s lovely,” he noted, his voice only containing the barest hint of a question.

“Yes,” she said, mask back on as she tried to hide a trace of bitterness. “He is a generous man. Something you will see in person when you attend the audition. He is our company’s most esteemed benefactor.”

Sensing this was not a point of pride for her, and understanding she saw him as a potential escape from her uncle’s influence, Will added coyly, “For now.”

Katrina beamed brightly at him, ignoring his earlier protestations and quickly kissing him chastely on the cheek. “Goodnight, Mr. Granville.”

Flushed and fighting the needs that beckoned just below the surface, he nodded, and left the apartment quickly. Shutting the door behind him, he leaned his back against it and closed his eyes, trying to find a sense of calm.

Of course, he wasn’t going to; the air out in the hallway was as charged as it had been in the apartment, but with a different kind of tension.

Lolling his head to the side, Will found Hannibal eying him with a look of raw anger and jealousy. Katrina had washed off her lipstick, but Hannibal had likely overheard enough, and now smelled enough, to piece together what had happened.

Will shot back a cutting glare. Hannibal had been the one to suggest he throw himself at Katrina. Twice.

But reason wasn’t really fuelling Hannibal’s motivations at the moment, as evidenced by his snarl and clenched fists. He advanced towards the apartment and Will quickly stepped in his way, silently signalling him to back down. Their eyes locked like two lions circling a wounded gazelle, and even though he would lose if they came to blows, Will stood his ground.

Not only would it be reckless for Hannibal to now decide he needed to brutally stake his claim on Will, it would also be pointless. Katrina was tainted for him. She was off-limits. A non-starter. But Katrina’s situation and calculating demeanor reminded him of both Margot and Abigail, and he instinctively felt a need to protect her.

Eventually, the blind rage that crackled behind Hannibal’s eyes dissipated enough for at least some of this to supposedly sink in, and stalked towards to the stairwell in a huff. Will followed at a steady pace, ready to pounce if Hannibal made any sudden movements. But not long after, the two were down on the street, feet moving quickly over the cobbled stone without a set destination, breathing in the calming evening air.

“I know you don’t care about sustainability,” Will commented under his breath after a few moments of silence, “but the length of our time together will be significantly reduced if you try to kill every woman who so much as looks at me.”

“Katrina was guilty of much more than that, Will,” Hannibal shot back. “For one thing, her advancements were in blatant disregard of your declaration that your heart still belonged elsewhere.”

“Yes, imagine someone being so discourteous!” Will rasped derisively.

Hannibal didn’t need to acknowledge anything for Will to tell his point had landed.

“Besides, I think many of her recent actions have been motivated, at least partially, by survival.”

“From the aforementioned Uncle Dmitry, yes.” Hannibal acknowledged coolly. “I met him at the memorial and noted a particular ruthlessness beneath his polished exterior. But that’s not unusual for a man of his wealth and social standing. I do not have your insight; I have no idea if he’s our killer.”

“Well, luckily that means you can introduce me to him at Katrina’s audition and I’ll see if I can get a sense-“

But Will’s plotting was cut short at the sound of a scream. He looked to Hannibal, who seemed as clueless as he was, and they cautiously followed the sound to its source.

By the time they reached the town square, a small crowd of onlookers had formed. Will didn’t need to cut through them to see what they were all buzzing about in the middle of the night. On the central platform, in the same place Maria and Alexander had been found two nights before, stood new figures.

Two men, beaten and bloody, were dressed in ballet costuming and impaled on each other’s swords. Will could tell immediately they hadn’t been skinned; they’d been posed this way post-mortem, hastily propped up with delicate balancing that would last only long enough for the townsfolk to get an eyeful before the bodies collapsed in a heap.

There was no love here; no reverence, no tribute. This wasn’t beautiful. It was brutal and petty and humiliating, something Will might suspect of his partner in crime if Hannibal’s whereabouts hadn’t been accounted for during its occurrence.

“Romeo’s slaying of Paris, his romantic rival, even in Juliet’s death,” Hannibal commented, unperturbed. “The less broken of the two is another dancer in the company, Robert. I believe he was also Alexander’s lover.”

“That would mean the other man is likely the father of Maria’s child,” Will realized. “I’m guessing that one’s meant to be Paris.”

Hannibal hummed in agreement. “This installation will not be preserved in time. Are you certain this is our killer’s work?”

“Yes,” Will confirmed, not needing to disappear into his empathy to do so. He was in no mood to try and relive the crime. He had enough killers fighting for control of his headspace. “Different picture, different medium, same artist.”

“It would seem he has an affinity for it now,” Hannibal noted. “He’ll likely want to paint the town red.”

Will circled around, away from the crowd, and Hannibal followed close behind. “He’s on more of a revenge kick than a rampage, but it might amount to the same.”

“What do you mean?” Hannibal asked.

“Not enough that he preserved his perfect moment in time,” Will replied, breathing slowly as he delicately unwound the killer’s twisted mind. “He’s going to destroy anyone who challenges his vision. The dancers auditioning to replace Maria and Alexander are almost certainly next on his list of art supplies.”

They eyed each other uncomfortably, Katrina clearly at the front of both their minds. Will expected to catch Hannibal grinning at the thought of her as the next victim, and was surprised when he was met instead with a look of discontent. 

“As much as I enjoy public displays of violence, I’ll admit I find the prospect rather troubling,” he said with sincerity, further baffling Will. Turning back to the tableau, Hannibal’s expression bordered on a pout. “He’s going to slaughter the entire company before I ever see them perform.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I've posted two chapters today, so if you saw the update and automatically scrolled down to this last chapter, make sure to go read chapter 9 first :)
> 
> It's odd to feel the need to warn about consent issues, given the nature of the show, but here I am anyway to give you a heads up. Don't worry too much if you've been comfortable reading this far; non-con will never be my scene. But please be aware that issues of dubious consent are featured in this chapter.

Will ran through the dark woods, heart beating loudly in his chest. The bright moon hung low in the black night sky, obscured by an ever-changing outline of branches as he leapt over rocks and bushes as fast as his feet would carry him. He dodged brambles and burst through tangled bunches of leaves, making no effort to avoid minor scrapes and bruises. His veins were pumping too much adrenaline for such trivial things to matter.

Will was running for his life. Whether he was the hunter or the hunted depended entirely how fast he could run.

When he got to the clearing, he climbed up the tree he knew he’d find there and lay in wait, concealed by darkness and the lush foliage. Minutes passed and he pulled out his knife, carving symbols into the clean bark of the branch he lay on to pass the time and focus his nerves.

Finally, across the open space, he heard the snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves, and he turned his head slightly to see the tip of a black antler break through into the clearing. Will smiled, gripping the knife tightly and readying himself to strike.

The wendigo prowled on all fours on the forest floor, scanning its surroundings with predatory grace. Will’s pulse quickened as it neared the base of the tree, the tension of it being so close, and yet just out of reach, revving up his anticipation. If it could just come a little bit closer…

Suddenly the wendigo stopped, its entire form completely immobile. It blinked and slowly rose to stand, looking off somewhere in the distance. Will’s breath caught in his throat, worried that it was about to run off. He gripped the knife tighter.

At that moment, the wendigo’s head cocked in his direction, its empty white eyes piercing straight into Will’s soul.

Will had no choice; he leapt off the branch, falling with purpose as the wendigo soared upwards to greet him in the air. They met in a clash of limbs, Will grabbing onto the antlers and twisting with all his might while the wendigo clawed at his torso. They hit the ground with a thunderous crash, still brawling with feverish intensity as they each gained the upper hand for a few seconds at a time.

The wendigo knocked the knife out of Will’s hand, but that didn’t stop his fists from landing a few solid punches when he struggled to fight his way on top again. Will’s breath was ragged and he was covered in scratches, but he continued to wail on the beast with abandon. He was terrified, but that only fueled his fury, and each strike sent shockwaves of gratification throughout his entire body that acted as a soothing balm.

Lost in the moment, he missed how the wendigo moved beneath him, its legs connecting with Will’s torso like a freight train and sending him flying backwards. When his back struck the tree, he thought it might shatter into a million pieces. Wind completely knocked out of his lungs, Will slumped to the ground, panting uselessly on his knees.

Struggling to keep his eyes open, he watched the wendigo rise to its full height and stalk towards him. Will tried to force himself to move, his eyes catching the knife’s edge that glinted in the moonlight just a few feet away from him. But before he could reach out, blackened brambles broke through the earth and wrapped around him entirely, trapping him like an animal in a living net. The thorny branches that tightened around him didn’t scratch his skin, but tore his clothes to shreds, leaving him vulnerable and powerless at the feet of the tall demon now towering over him.

Bleeding and broken, Will awaited his end at the hands of his game. But as the wendigo stared deep into Will’s eyes, its face a total void, the beast dissolved before him into swirling, liquid smoke. The dark fluid floated down on him, pooling in the air around his head and drenching Will’s sweat-and-blood soaked face with the inky black mist.

Will tried to resist breathing in, but he could only deny himself air for so long. He inhaled the warm fluid through his nose and mouth, feeling it coat his throat and soak into his lungs. With each breath, the smoke sunk further into his bloodstream, and he could feel it moving through him. Behind his eyes, along his limbs and deep in his chest, a sinister warmth spread. The pain, the rage, the need to fight; it all fell away as he surrendered himself to the darkness.

Most of the brambles that held him immobile melted against his warmth, and he looked down to find his naked form dripping with black, shiny liquid. Becoming aroused at the sight, Will reached to stroke himself, but whimpered when he found his hands were still bound to the forest floor.

Within seconds, shadowy hands slid around each side of Will’s torso, carelessly smearing the dripping black ink. As one arm spread across his chest to hold him steady, the other reached down to grip his hard length and he groaned at the welcome sensation. A smooth, flat chest pressed solidly into his back and he could feel an unmistakable stiffness press into the cleft of his ass.

Will closed his eyes as the hand stroked him, stretching his head back, sinking into the warm body that enveloped him. Hungry kisses along his neck matched the needy thrusts he felt as the hard length behind him slide between his cheeks. He was useless to actively reciprocate, only able to receive the pleasure that the shadowy figure behind him graciously bestowed. And he melted into it without a care in the world.

With every new stroke of the strong, sure hand on him, Will became more breathless, heart racing as he felt the edge of an orgasm creep up on him. But the world shifted, and Will wasn’t kneeling on the forest floor but lying down, wrapped up in soft, white sheets. Eyes fluttering as he moaned, he saw that it was still nighttime. But he was in bed, back on the boat, listening to the soft splash of waves against the shoreline.

Awareness settled in as his hand involuntarily moved to the hardness trapped in his boxers. The dream had bled into reality and the strength of his arousal had woken him. He was teetering on the edge and his body was waiting for him to give himself that final push.

However, before he could get a steady grip, he turned his head to find Hannibal sitting in the corner, watching him. Suddenly wide awake, Will’s hand recoiled and he jolted up in the bed, grasping at the sheets to cover himself.

“Bad dream?” Hannibal asked darkly. He was as immobile and expressionless as a statue. “You were making quite the commotion.”

Will’s face flushed. There was no way Hannibal hadn’t pieced together the kind of dream he just had. Even if he couldn’t see the tenting under Will’s sheets, he definitely would have smelled his arousal. Noting his own wet hair and the damp shirt clinging to his skin, Will knew he must reek of it.

“Yeah, bad dream” Will muttered, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands and wiping his brow, silently willing his erection to dissipate. “Worst dream I’ve ever had.”

But Hannibal wasn’t buying it.

“Seems like it has you quite worked up.” He observed, affecting a clinical indifference. “Tell me, Will, would it help you to describe it in detail as I assist in relieving its lingering effects?”

Will groaned, his body screaming out for him to say yes.

Will desperately wanted to watch Hannibal’s reverent expression as he recounted his dream in excruciating detail while those strong, steady hands stroked him to completion. But considering their interaction the previous night had ended with Will denying the possibility of any sexual desire for Hannibal, he worried that this might undermine his stance. He didn't want to be robbed of his freshly won victory.

His cock throbbed and Will briefly wondered if this was the single most idiotic play he’d ever made.

Needing to turn the tables somehow, Will surveyed the man in the corner and tried to get a read on his state of mind.

After Hannibal had stormed off, and Will's satisfaction of denying him had died down, he had spent the following day ruminating on a broad spectrum of worries. He’d been concerned that Hannibal, in his drunken haze, would be unable to resist his urge to retaliate; Chiyoh, charged with protecting Will at all costs, would’ve been forced to put him down. He’d later worried that Hannibal had wandered to one of their neighbour’s properties and instead expressed his rage in a bloody, brutal rampage.

But when Chiyoh had returned from her daytime expedition without finding the monster or a trace of his destructive tendencies, Will’s greatest anxiety came to be over the image of Hannibal simply passing out on the beach too close to the shoreline, his helpless body carried away by high tide.

Now that Hannibal had returned, even at the most inconvenient time, Will was relieved that his gamble had not cost him everything, and he felt no guilt returning to the game. He debated bringing up Hannibal’s dangerous reaction from the night before. But considering his own reaction to Hannibal’s unabashed innuendo, he suspected that wasn’t the wisest course of action if he wanted to maintain the upper hand. Instead, Will thought to refocus Hannibal’s attention on his own demons, knowing it was his distress that most excited him.

“I dreamt I was the Dragon,” Will said, voice low. He cast his gaze down at the floor, radiating shame. “I dreamt that I attacked Molly the way he would attack her."

Hannibal’s lack of response hovered heavy in the darkness. Whether he was pleased or unhappy with the notion, Will couldn’t tell, but he could at least sense that the false confession had successfully deflected him. Will pressed on.

 “This isn't the reaction I want to those kinds of dreams.” Will pleaded. He was being truthful; what he was describing had happened to him on multiple occasions since he’d let the Dragon into his mind. And it had sickened him. But in this particular moment, it was smoke and mirrors. “That's not who I want to become.”

“Yes, well,” Hannibal said finally, clearing his throat. “That I do understand. I must admit I’ve always found that brand of sadism distasteful.”

Will sneered, rolling his eyes. “Manipulation, murder and canabalism are perfectly acceptable forms of behaviour, but of course _that_ particular violation is something you consider rude.”

Hannibal looked offended. “It's beneath me. It’s beneath you too, Will. I am of course happy to help you embrace everything you’ve become. But if you ask it of me, I would be willing to help you find alternate outlets for that need.”

Will sunk back down into the sheets, covering his face with his arm. His erection was mostly gone, and he was mostly thankful. He knew exactly what he was playing with when he pondered the next thought aloud. “A lifelong vow of chastity might be the safest course of action.”

“Oh, I disagree,” Hannibal said vehemently. “Under those strenuous conditions, you’d be more likely than ever to snap and do something you’ll regret.”

 “Since when have you worried about me doing something I’ll regret?” Will muttered. “That’s been your entire MO since day one of our friendship.”

Hannibal’s silence was deafening. Will eventually turned to face him, curious what he’d said that had him suddenly mute. Hannibal shifted in his seat uncomfortably, eyes cast downward.

“My goal has always been for you to realize your potential so you could find your true self,” Hannibal said, clearly choosing his words with care. “I understand that my methods may have been considered manipulative, but they were always enacted in the interest of a greater authenticity.”

So many objections bubbled up and caught in Will’s throat, he nearly choked on them. All he managed to get out was “I know you believe that to be true.”

But Hannibal was too wrapped up in his own explanation to back down at Will’s obvious skepticism.

“Your authentic self is what’s most important to me, because I have always known it would be compatible with my own.” Hannibal clarified. “Now that you have finally achieved your becoming, I see you as an equal.”

Hannibal rose out of the chair and moved towards the bed. Will instinctively sat back up and moved towards the wall, bringing his knees up and hooking them with his arms. However, Hannibal surprisingly sensed that he needed space and merely leaned on the edge of the mattress, staying at a respectable distance.

“I don’t want to continue to employ the same methods of influence on you that were needed before,” Hannibal said, unwrapping the mysterious item that Will hadn’t noticed he’d been holding. “I wish for you to make your own choices now.”

Hannibal placed the opened fabric on the bed between them. Upon inspection, Will realized it was a leather roll-up pouch, containing glass medical syringes and an unmarked amber vial.

“Which is why,” Hannibal continued, “one of the few regrets I will ever experience occurred today, when I momentarily considered utilizing this.”

Will stared at the vial with a healthy sense of dread. “What is it?”

Hannibal exhaled, his tone falsely casual. “A pharmaceutical cocktail formulated to temporarily override one’s hardwired sexual inclinations and induce an indiscriminate amorous effect.”

Will blinked. “You wanted to make me feel sexual desire for you.”

There was too much to parse and Will thought his head might explode. If it was effective (and with Hannibal as the chemist, he had no doubt it was), then such a drug was supremely dangerous and held numerous dark implications.

It was also _extreme._  And, in Will’s case, wholly unnecessary. But he supposed that was the game he was playing by not letting Dr. Hannibal Lecter in on that fact.

“I wanted you to feel a pure, uninhibited craving for me, yes,” Hannibal admitted. If Will didn’t know better, he would’ve mistaken his expression for guilt. “Even if it was only temporary. But I realized that you would likely consider chemical effects even less genuine than those of your empathy.”

Will was too baffled to be horrified. “And you let that stop you?”

“As I said,” Hannibal replied, “your authentic self is most important to me. If you were to ever find yourself under the influence of the compound, I would want it to be of your own volition.”

Will looked around the room for any anchor to sanity. Finding none, he let out a dark chuckle.

“You want me _to want_ to want you?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said, equally annoyed and amused by his reductive wordplay.

Will scanned himself for his own reaction, realizing he was more fascinated than shaken by Hannibal’s admission. Not so much at the confession that Hannibal had wanted to drug him; after the initial shock passed, Will realized he’d expected something along those lines to befall him at some point.

No, Will was taken aback by Hannibal’s denial of his impulse to control him. If it this wasn’t an outright betrayal of Hannibal’s nature, than it was certainly a new step in his evolution. Maybe Will _had_ changed Hannibal as much as Hannibal had changed him.  

“How frightening did you find the need to put consideration for another above your own desire?”

“I’ll confess that it was an uncomfortable, foreign experience,” Hannibal acknowledged, before adding casually, “Although not wholly unpleasant.”

Will tilted his head, seeing Hannibal in a slightly new light. “I guess love isn’t entirely selfish, after all.”

“My motives for abstaining were not completely altruistic, Will” Hannibal stated as he wrapped up the leather pouch, placing it in the drawer at Will’s bedside. “You are going to require an outlet for physical connection eventually, and I promise not to bring it up before you do. But when you inevitably face the realization that I am the only one who can withstand the duality of your physical desires, I want you to remember that I did give you the choice.”

Will smirked at the ominous declaration. It was almost a dare. _I can make you want me, but I don't need to. And I can wait you out._

If anything, this reinforced Will's desire to be withholding. He cocked an eyebrow. “And if I never come to that conclusion?”

Hannibal’s jaw twitched at the notion, but after a beat, he let out a heavy sigh.

“Now that I finally have you, I want us to share in every pleasure that life has to offer. To me, denying ourselves this one seems senseless. But given all the other wonderful ways in which we are alike, I can accept this single incompatibility.”

He reached out to stroke Will’s cheek and Will closed his eyes, already sinking before Hannibal’s hand even made contact. But to his chagrin, the soothing touch never came.

Will opened his eyes to see Hannibal flexing his hand awkwardly before placing it innocuously on his knee. Clearly, the concept of respecting boundaries was new to him, and Will found his naiveté amusing. God help him, he thought it was endearing.

Hannibal stared at him wistfully, his tone resigned. “If the only time I ever feel your hands on me again is as they close around my neck, I will die happy, knowing that I was still able to experience the most intimate parts of you.”

Will forced a smile, but considered the implications as he stared at Hannibal’s hand on his knee. Will was as determined as ever to hold onto his win, but he realized that this couldn’t be the cost. Panicking, Will grabbed Hannibal’s palm and placed it on the side of his face. Where it belonged.

“This?” Will said, his voice barely a whisper as he held Hannibal’s hand against him. “This is fine.”

A glint of hope returned to Hannibal’s eye as he picked up on the unspoken _for now_. He nodded, gaze tender and affectionate as he chastely caressed Will’s cheek with his thumb.

Despite Hannibal’s objectively disturbing confession, Will couldn’t deny that he still found the act comforting. This, Will realized, was his drug. He actively ignored how far this meant he had fallen, instead allowing himself to once again sink into the warmth of the simple, gentle touch.

Even within his small victory, Will reasoned there was still space to make tiny concessions.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I underestimated how much I needed to cover in this last installment. This benefits you, since this means I've got one final installment to go! Hope you enjoy ^_^ 
> 
> Thanks, as always, for your kudos and lovely comments!!

The interior of the mansion was even more old-world than its outside had led Will to believe. A vast stone structure that had been through several cycles of renovations and disrepair over the centuries, Will briefly wondered if it had ever been used as a location for a horror film. Certainly neither Dracula nor Dr. Frankenstein would have felt out of place wandering the cold, eerie halls.

Accented in deep scarlet and filled to the brim with antiques, art, stone gargoyles and stuffed apex predators, Will thought disreputable tabloid newspapers and casual Lecter aficionados might have imagined the castle to be the doctor’s ideal habitat. But when Will caught his companion’s subtle grimace at the aesthetics of their surroundings, he inwardly chuckled. Even Hannibal found the décor a bit gauche.

Adding to the haunting atmosphere was the patent aura of solitude. A dwelling of such a size would require at least one person on staff to regularly maintain. And yet, Will sensed nothing that indicated anyone lived there other than the sophisticated man who had welcomed them at the front door. He was refined but an obvious recluse, and it had taken the combined forces of Will’s empathic charm and Hannibal’s silver tongue to secure them an invitation inside.

As they followed their host past the third stuffed bear into a large room with a crackling fireplace, Will reasoned there could only be two explanations as to why Katrina’s Uncle Dmitry wasn’t currently being questioned by the local authorities. Either those investigating Maria and Alexander’s murders were unaware of Dmitry’s obsession with taxidermy, due to a lack of visitors that could relay this information, or they were highly aware and powerless against Dmitry’s influence and wealth.

Given that their plans for enacting their own justice required privacy, either scenario suited Will just fine.

There was only one issue Will pondered as he and Hannibal exchanged pleasantries with their host, ingratiating themselves while he poured them all a brandy. Guilt radiated off the smooth, sinister man like a putrefying stench, and yet Will could not envision him as the killer. A killer? Perhaps in his youth.

But as he took the crystal tumbler from Dmitry, Will couldn’t ignore the man’s hands; they were unstained by the recent string of murders. In fact, as Will noted while he briefly let his empathy colour his vision, those hands were pristine; as if the man had been wearing gloves and had scrubbed himself clean.

Will tried to communicate these observations with innocuous comments and subtle glances, but either Hannibal was not picking up on them, or he truly didn’t think it mattered, because he pressed on with the game. Hannibal had his own motivations and appetites, after all.

Will begrudgingly conceded his point; guilt was not strictly limited to those who wielded the murder weapon. Whatever part Dmitry had played in the dancers’ demise was still a trespass against both of their moral codes, even if his obvious lack of love for the victims ruled him out as the primary perpetrator.

“I know it’s unkind to speak ill of the dead, but they were an embarrassment to the theatre,” Dmitry droned apologetically. He took a seat on one of the baroque chairs by the fire, and Will mirrored his motion. “You must have heard the rumours by now.”

“I’m afraid they were rather difficult to avoid,” Hannibal responded with the perfect mix of compassion and hesitance. He stood at Will’s side, placing his free hand on the ornate trim at the top of the chair.  “We were lured here by the company’s reputation, and we were dismayed to learn that not all its dancers were committed to upholding it.”

“Not as dismayed as when we learned of their deaths, of course,” Will added cautiously as he took a sip of his brandy.

“Of course,” Hannibal echoed, looking down and catching his eye, playing off Will’s cover with false sincerity. “But even so, it calls certain issues of reliability into question.”

“Most understandable,” Dmitry said sympathetically. “But I have been assured by the director that, going forward, they will be more selective with whom they entrust such an esteemed legacy.”

“Consider my interest peaked,” Will replied with a raised brow. “Would it be too forward to ask how such assurances can be made?”

Without missing a beat, Hannibal added, “Seeing as we’re looking upon this less as donors and more as potential investors.”

Dmitry fidgeted in his chair a bit, clearly deliberating which details were too delicate to let slip. “My niece, Katrina, is almost certainly slated to take over as the prima ballerina. Just as my sister before her, and our mother before that. On top of being the most gifted dancer, she appreciates the value of such a legacy and will not allow petty distractions to tarnish it.”

At these words, a rush of understanding flooded Will’s consciousness. Living up to her mother’s achievements was as important to Katrina’s uncle as it had been to her, and Maria’s selection as principal dancer had stood in the way of that legacy.

Katrina had likely told her uncle of Maria’s pregnancy in hopes that his influence would position her to usurp the role, maybe even humiliating her in the process. But as resentful as Katrina had been of Maria, she’d underestimated how Dmitry might react to the insult of his beloved ballet.

“Well I can understand why you’d be so protective of the company,” Hannibal commented, clearly having come to similar conclusions. “Sounds like it’s somewhat of a family business.”

Dmitry laughed heartily. “Oh, more like a family obsession. Even my son, Viktor, has fallen victim to its charms. A boy of his tastes? Honestly, you’d never imagine…well, speak of the devil.”

Both Will and Hannibal turned their heads at the overwhelming presence that both noticed standing in the doorway. Will stood out of respect, but a chill washed over him as he took in the young man’s rough appearance. An imposing figure, with half a foot on Hannibal’s height and nearly twice as broad, Will sensed a paralyzing introverted demeanor that was in stark contrast to his father’s cool magnetism.

“Don’t just stand there,” Dmitry chastised, clearly uncomfortable with his son’s presence but trying to rescue the situation. “Come introduce yourself to our guests. Mr. Granville, and Mr. Smythe.”

Both Hannibal and Will reached out to shake Viktor’s hand, but he pointedly shunned them, focused on confronting his father. Will caught Hannibal’s eyes flashing at the blatant disregard for etiquette.

“What are they doing here?” Viktor demanded.

“Calm down,” Dmitry warned. “They are only here to discuss the future of the company. My apologies, gentlemen, he’s not used to visitors-”

“There is no future of the company,” Viktor interjected, shaking at the suggestion. “You promised-“

“This is not the time,” Dmitry shot back under his breath. Will imagined a dog owner tugging sharply on their rabid pets’ leash. Accordingly, Viktor tried to bring himself to heel.

But Hannibal had never been one to encourage de-escalation. “Your father was merely relaying the pleasant news of your cousin’s succession to Maria’s throne. For your family, I’d imagine this as a silver lining in the wake of such a tragedy.”

Will didn’t need his keen insight to see that this news was far from pleasant to Viktor. Cracking his knuckles, his eyes shot daggers at his father, the betrayal he felt sickeningly palpable. As Will looked to a panicking Dmitry through Viktor’s eyes, he saw the skin on the old man’s face tearing like seams, stiches suddenly visible as they split apart. His father had used his gift and his love for Maria to his own ends, and now sought to compromise his vision.

Sensing how close to the edge Viktor was, Hannibal approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Like throwing gasoline on a bonfire, he added, “My partner and I are of course willing to support him in this matter. In fact, Mr. Granville has confided to me that he could imagine no finer pleasure than seeing Katrina perform on that stage.”

Will was nearly bowled over by the blast of red hot rage suddenly aimed in his direction. Viktor was breaking free of the leash and he had his sights set on Will. Feeling his own skin start to tear at the seams, his heart raced, pumping adrenaline through his veins. His fight or flight instinct kicked in to high gear. But even as Viktor stomped towards him, twice his size and ready to tear him apart, Will eagerly anticipated the outcome of standing his ground.

Will never felt more alive than when he was inches from death.

“Viktor, stop this!” Dmitry shouted as the space between his son and Will rapidly closed. “Get yourself under-“

However, the protests were cut short as Hannibal cleanly slit the blade he’d been hiding across Dmitry’s neck.

Will briefly took in the sight of Hannibal standing behind the old man, hand over his mouth as his eyes went wide with shock, a great splash of blood bursting forth from his exposed jugular. But Will could only appreciate his companion’s predatory satisfaction for a split second before Viktor’s gigantic frame obscured his entire field of vision.

Playing frozen with fear until the last possible moment, Will slipped his own blade from his inner jacket pocket. Before the larger man could get his hands on his neck, Will deftly and firmly shoved the blade between Viktor’s ribs.

Towering over him, Viktor looked down at the stab wound, stunned by the unexpected strike. Will grinned up at him, panting and shaky, ready to twist the knife deeper. But Viktor quickly metabolized the shock, face twisting into rage at being baited, and he struck Will hard across the face with a blow that sent him spiralling to the ground.

Head throbbing and vision dizzy, Will desperately tried to regain his bearings. _Get up, get up, get up,_ his overstimulated brain shouted at the heap of limbs he’d become.

He turned sideways and tried to focus, watching as Viktor slowly, achingly pulled the knife from his chest. Will grunted as he forced his body to move, stumbling onto his knees and wiping the blood from the new cut on his lip. Seeing the shining red gave him a much needed shot of adrenaline, and Will readied himself for the bull to charge. He held little regard for the fact that he had no chance of surviving the horns.

“Oh Viktor,” Will heard in the distance, followed by a whistle.

Figuring he still had the upper hand against Will, Viktor allowed himself the momentary distraction and turned to look at its source. Dmitry had since fallen to the floor, face first in a pool of his own blood, barely clinging to life with short, rasped breaths.

Hannibal gestured to his most recent victim, patently unaffected. “I’m sorry. Made a bit of a mess. Sure you can stitch him back together, though.”

Viktor’s eyes trailed from his father on the floor to Hannibal and the back down to Will, a look of furious disbelief in his eye.

Hannibal grinned, pleased at their quarry’s confusion, and Will reflected the smile as he made his final move to stand. When their eyes connected, a surge of electricity passed between them, inciting them both to action.

Moving in unison, he and Hannibal charged Viktor from opposite sides of the room. Hannibal struck first, dodging Viktor’s knife, landing a few punches before his shoulder connected hard with the larger man’s solar plexus.

The shock sent him reeling backwards and Will caught his knife in midair. He rounded on Viktor and let out a satisfied growl as he planted the blade deep in his lower abdomen. Seizing Viktor’s now bloodied shirt in a bunch to hold him steady, he pulled the knife raggedly up his torso, splitting his front wide open.

As the blood and viscera poured forth, bathing him in red, Will felt the deep satisfaction flood his senses. After months of his appetite being teased in the presence of one monster, he’d finally allowed himself to slay another. Will was suddenly overwhelmed as the release washed over him, his thirst for righteous violence finally slaked.

Standing back as Viktor collapsed to his knees, clutching at the open gash with futility, Will watched as Hannibal slowly circled around their prey. Resting his hand on Viktor’s head, Hannibal’s eyes were only for Will, taking in his blood-soaked serenity with mixture of pride and lust.

“Would you like to finish him?” Hannibal asked, voice cracking. He gripped Viktor’s hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat.

Basking in his afterglow, Will shook his head.

“You do it.” Licking his bleeding lip, he looked down at their kill with lidded eyes. “I just want to watch.”

Hannibal obliged, bringing his own blade to Viktor’s throat. Gaze never breaking from Will’s face, he slowly drew the blade from right to left while Will watched the life pour out of their killer with rapt fascination.

Rather than spurt, the blood trickled, and Will saw beauty in the bright red pattern that formed on the once clean shirt. He imagined Viktor having been as delicate with the blade on Maria as Hannibal was being with him now. Seeing how that contrasted with the rough edges of the slash up his stomach, as brutal as the marks Viktor had left on the humiliated lovers, Will felt a pleasant twist of both excitement and wave of tranquility. The divine punishment of the sinner mirrored the sin being punished. He’d found purpose in his new religion, and it brought him peace.

As the light went out of Viktor’s eyes, Hannibal released him, letting him fall into oblivion on the cold, wet floor. And Will let out the deep breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

Stepping over the heap, Hannibal swiftly appeared at Will’s side and took him up in his arms. Feeling calm, Will only understood how much he’d actually been shaking when he sunk into the embrace, his quivering slowly subsiding. He pressed his face into Hannibal’s chest, soaking up his warmth, inhaling the heady musk of sweat and blood and calm self-assuredness. Hannibal soothed him, one arm draped at the base of his spine to hold him close, and another stroking softly at the back of his neck.

“Thank you,” Will whispered, eyes closed. He felt his breath slow to match Hannibal’s, their hearts soon beating as one.

Overwhelmed, Hannibal said nothing, only pressing a small kiss to the crown of Will’s head. He clung to him lovingly, reverently, basking in the glow of what they’d made together, and in Will’s need to be held by him. Will hadn’t permitted such physical intimacy since Hannibal had kissed him on the beach, and Hannibal was milking the embrace for all it was worth. As a cheek brushed his tousled hair, nuzzling him affectionately, Will sensed that Hannibal’s greatest challenge yet would be to somehow let him go.

Will reflected on all the needs that Hannibal had just helped him fulfill. Turning his head to the side, he considered how much of a concession it would be to kiss Hannibal in this moment. Would he be able to blame it purely on gratitude if his cock twitched at the thought of Hannibal sucking hungrily on his bloody lip?

Inhaling sharply at the imagined sensation, his eyes fluttered open. But all air was sucked out of the room when his gaze fell upon the figure in the doorway.

There, utterly paralyzed with fear, stood Katrina.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of tonight's installment. 
> 
> Also, a trigger warning would be kinda redundant at this point, no?

Hannibal’s grip on Will briefly tightened, a territorial instinct taking hold.

“What is this?” Katrina screamed, taking in both blood-soaked men before her and the entire gruesome scene. “What have you done?”

“What have you done, Katrina?” he retorted mockingly, delighting in her distress. Hannibal’s entire demeanor had instantaneously switched from affectionate to deadly. He released Will and turned on her. “None of this would have come to pass if it hadn’t been for your petty jealousies and aspirations.”

He grinned smugly. “I suppose we should be thanking you.”

Confused and lost in terror, Katrina looked to Will for an explanation. Surely her near-lover could make sense of this madness.

But as Will met her gaze, a dull, pulsing need took hold.

Glass shards once again replaced her eyes and mouth, blood dripping down her face and soaking into the fabric of her clothes.  

He looked to her cousin and her uncle, their blood still wet on his hands.

She was, after all, the last reigning matriarch of her perfect family of conspirators.

And this was all her fault. No one would have had to die if she’d kept her greedy mouth shut.

The Dragon and his own demons were coming to a consensus; she _deserved_ to be changed.

Katrina trembled as she sensed Will was nothing but a danger to her. Her eyes flitted back and forth between the two bloody men and the mess they had made. Abruptly, she turned to run.

Hannibal grinned, set on chasing after her, but before he could take a step, Will held out his hand to stop him.

“Don’t,” he said with a cold detachment. Leaning down, he picked up the knife he’d discarded before their embrace. “You finished the last one. This one’s mine.”

Hannibal eyed him skeptically, but eventually yielded, gesturing ahead.

Will inhaled with purpose. Giving into the instinct that had been clawing at him and fighting for control, he stalked after his prey.

Katrina was already out of his line of sight by the time he stepped into the corridor, but he could hear her panicked, whimpering echo off the stone walls and he followed them to their source. Nimble on his feet, he was able to weave through the various obstacles overcrowding the hallway, ignoring the glassy, judgemental eyes of every mounted animal head that witnessed his pursuit. He’d slain the beast that had slain them; he was their master now.

Reaching a junction in the hallways with several doors lining each direction, Will closed his eyes and focused his empathy for Katrina into a weapon. When he opened them again, everything was dimmer, like the colour had been drained from the world. Except for the bright red door just out of the corner of his eye, down the left corridor that led deeper into the castle.

Making a point to open and slam a door nearer the entrance, he silently slinked towards the red door that pounded like a heartbeat. As soon as his hand grasped the knob, the world snapped back to its rich colour pallet. Gripping the knife tightly in his hand, he leaned his back against the wood and pushed the door wide open, ready to strike at the first thing that moved.

The broom closet was dark, and for a confusing few seconds, Will wondered if he’d been wrong somehow. When Katrina suddenly appeared from a hidden space in the wall, trying to slip past him, he was slow to try and grab her. She fought back like an animal, clawing at his face and kneeing him in the stomach, leaving Will winded as she scrambled away.

Recovering from the blow quickly, his stumbling paces soon shifted into a desperate chase. He could see her again, running at a breakneck speed and his body urged him to close in on her. The scratch marks she’d left on his face stung, and every mirror he passed splintered and shattered into a million pieces, exploding shards through the hallway that fell around him like confetti.

When Katrina dipped into a room with double swinging doors, Will mindlessly followed, blade comfortably at his side. He was met with darkness, but the echo of a high pitched grunt told him to duck. Katrina had swung at him with a frying pan and he saw they were in the kitchen. She swung again and he successfully blocked it, grabbing her arm before she could land a connecting blow. He pulled the skillet from her hand and sent her reeling backwards, watching her crash into the kitchen island and clamber for stability.

Dropping the pan, he advanced on Katrina as she reached uselessly behind her, afraid to take her eyes off him while searching desperately for something to defend herself. Before she could get her hand on a large kitchen knife, he was on her, hurling her against the wall closest to them.

As Will crowded in on her, pinning her arms with his hands and her body with his weight, he felt an irresistible charge take hold of him. She trembled against him, begging and sobbing, and he felt awash in the heady sense of power. How much he wanted to bite her, to change her, to elevate this whimpering sinner into something worthy of his affection. He shuddered against her as she struggled, shushing her cries and inhaling her fear.

Pulling back to bask in the terror in her eyes, he was instead met with something unexpected. The glass shards he’d imagined didn’t reflect back his own face, bloody, sweaty and scratched as he knew it. Instead he saw the refracted image of Francis Dolarhyde, snarling, sprouting black antlers where red horns should be.

Will recoiled at the sight, the abomination enough to temporarily shake him back to himself.

This was all wrong.

His split second of awareness was enough to buy him the wherewithal to reach out to the knob beside Katrina, open the pantry and roughly fling her inside. He slammed the door shut and propped his back up against it, splaying his arms out and bracing his knees to withstand her banging to force her way out.

His body urged him to crush but Will redirected that strength into holding steady, trapping Katrina in and protecting her from himself. The Dragon screamed at him to take her, to give her to him, but Will’s own demons were resilient enough to fight back if he forced them to.

Hannibal appeared at the edge of Will’s vision. Clicking his tongue disapprovingly, he took in the sorry sight of Will’s attempt at self-control.

“Behold; a great red dragon,” he said derisively.

Though his fear doubled at Hannibal’s presence, Will held his ground, even as Katrina’s cries for freedom and pounding against the door intensified.

“I don’t want this,” Will asserted. “This isn’t who I am.”

“Isn’t it?” Hannibal queried, closing in on him slowly. “Seems you are still of two minds, Will.”

“I don’t want to become him!” Will roared, slamming his fist against the door. “What he needs from her is _ugly_.”

“Not all our urges will be beautiful,” Hannibal said darkly. “But we can always contort them into something appealing. Something that reflects our true nature.”

He stepped closer, crowding into Will’s space and placing his hand on the knob. Will eyed the motion with alarm, afraid of what would happen, what he’d do, if Hannibal overpowered him and pulled.

“No, Hannibal, stop, don’t,” Will pleaded. “I’m not this kind of killer.”

“You’re less convinced of that than I am,” Hannibal observed.

“Because I’m terrified I won’t be able to stop myself!” Will hissed.

“Best way to conquer fear is to face it head on,” Hannibal countered, gripping tightly on the handle. “Either way, this will prove to be therapeutic.”

“No, if you do this, I will lose control.” Will looked deep into Hannibal’s eyes, searching for mercy. Finding none, he raised the knife at his side and held it defensively between them, steadying the blade near Hannibal’s throat. “I thought I was making my own choices now.”

Hannibal chuckled and stepped into the blade, the sharp edge pressing into his skin enough to draw blood.

Will wasn’t going to kill him and they both knew it. But he refused to lower the knife. A last-ditch clutch for control.

“Allow me to alleviate some pressure from the choice, dear Will.” Hannibal smirked, reaching out to stroke his cheek. “If you don’t kill her, I will.”

Will quaked at the promise. Unlike the knife he held between them, this wasn’t a bluff.

“She’s seen us. She knows what we are. We can’t allow her to leave.”

Will knew it to be true, but it didn’t matter. Keeping a grasp on himself was more important. He shook his head defiantly

“She doesn’t need to be changed to service our needs.”

He tensed as he felt Hannibal’s arm move against him, tugging firmly at the handle. He was going to do it, open the door and unleash Will on Katrina. Even if Will could find it in himself to abstain from changing her, Hannibal would certainly kill her anyway.

There were no wins for Will. Every outcome was a different degree of defeat.

“I can smell your need on you, Will,” Hannibal said as his body pressed into him. Will became instantly aware that Hannibal could probably feel his need as well. “Wield your desires however you like, but there’s no use denying what you crave.”

And Will suddenly understood that he had one card left to play.

“You’re right,” he conceded, meeting his gaze dead on. “There’s not.”

Will quickly lowered the knife and, just as swiftly, brought Hannibal in for a bruising, hungry kiss.


	13. Chapter 13

Hannibal stiffened against him, pulling back and staring down with disbelief.

Huffing out a satisfied grin, meant to entice as much as to tease, Will ignored Hannibal’s resistance and forcefully pulled him in for another kiss.

Twisting their bodies, Will slammed Hannibal against the pantry door. The jolt forced a grunt from Hannibal and his mouth slackened, finally allowing himself to give into Will’s needy lips. Taking the bait, he returned Will’s kiss in kind, threading his fingers through Will’s tattered curls while pulling him close against him.

Will gasped as he ground his erection into Hannibal, rumbling with pleasure as he felt his arousal quickly matched. Desperately, Will tugged Hannibal’s head aside and licked a long stripe up the exposed vein on his throat, reveling in the coppery taste from the blood his blade had drawn.

Will had the urge to bite and felt no guilt in satisfying it immediately. His teeth clamped down at the base of Hannibal’s neck, wresting a blissful cry from him and leaving a bright, beautiful mark that simultaneously nourished all of Will’s appetites.

Will’s ravenous lips met Hannibal’s again, their tongues dancing and fighting for control. He slid their clothed cocks against each other, eliciting a shudder in both of them.

“What game are you playing, Will?” Hannibal breathed out, his voice raspy and dripping in want.

Will growled, ignoring the question. He needed to keep them both distracted. His blood-stained cheek brushed against Hannibal’s as he pinned him down even harder, increasing the friction between them.

Hannibal’s eyelids fluttered, the look on his face utterly rapturous as Will drew each moan of pleasure from him. Their lips brushed in the rhythm of their undulation, and Will felt a sudden need to have more skin on skin. Still clinging to the knife, he pulled back enough to seize Hannibal’s shirt, tearing it cleanly open with the blade. He tore through the undershirt too, revealing a hard chest tickled with soft, light hairs.

Will grinned wickedly, pleased at having Hannibal so exposed before him. He ran his hand along the newly visible skin, resting over Hannibal’s beating heart as his chest heaved stuttered breaths. Proof that he was human, despite all evidence to the contrary. That he could die, could want, could need, just as any man does. That Will could break him if he so desired.

The simple power of it was intoxicating.

A surge broke through Hannibal as he watched Will’s honest reverence of him. He pulled Will’s mouth to him again before pushing them both off the door.

Will felt a thrill race through him as Hannibal tore his shirt open in one swift motion, buttons flying everywhere as he pulled the sleeves only halfway down, pinning both arms behind him. The awkward position shielded his back as Hannibal slammed Will into the island, towering over him and taking back control.

The knife in Will’s hand was useless now and he let it drop to the floor, the clanking noise it made echoing throughout the kitchen.

“You think you’re so clever,” Hannibal breathed as he lovingly stroked Will’s cheek. He ran his free hand along Will’s smooth chest and Will groaned, arching up into the touch. “You think you can win influence over me by offering yourself up to me.”

“Can’t I?” Will teased before seeking out Hannibal’s lips, so close to his and yet the distance made him ache.

But Hannibal denied him, pulling his head back and stretching Will’s neck taut.

“I’ve told you before, I’m not the one who demands a sacrifice,” Hannibal said, eyes piercing into him as his hand trailed lower down his chest. “I’m not the beast who needs to be tamed.”

Will shuddered as Hannibal pressed into him, their mutual hardness sliding together once again.

“Do you want me to beg?” Will adopted a mockingly flirtatious tone. “ _Pretty please, Hannibal, touch me, kiss me, tame me, please._ ”

Hannibal’s grip tightened on his hair and Will couldn’t hold in the yelp of pain.

“I want authenticity,” Hannibal demanded, his one hand’s gentle caress of the soft skin along Will’s belly in stark contrast to his dominant tone. “I want you to confess that whatever is fuelling this fire is more than empathy or bloodlust.”

“Wouldn’t that be enough?” Will gasped, eyes rolling back in his head as Hannibal ground deeply into him.

“Not anymore.” Hannibal touched his forehead to Will’s temple, breathing in his scent. “Not with what we’ve become together. I’ll give you anything you want, so long as you admit you genuinely want it.”

Will groaned, overwhelmed by the rawness in Hannibal’s demand.

Hannibal stopped pulling on his hair and caressing his stomach and Will whimpered at both losses. Taking a small step back, Hannibal placed his hands against the counter on either side of Will, caging him in with minimal contact. Will tried again to kiss him, to escape this without words, but Hannibal turned away and used his weight to hold him still.

Hannibal was done playing along with all the concessions Will allowed himself. He wasn’t yielding anymore ground. He wanted Will to hand over his last victory, once and for all.

And at the edge of his downfall, Will discovered that he ached too much to resist letting go.

“I want you to touch me,” Will whispered, squeezing his eyes shut as he tossed in his one remaining chip.

Hannibal was eerily still at the confession, silent for moments. Will felt naked.

Speaking into Will’s temple, Hannibal broke the silence, voice needy. “If the Dragon weren’t fighting for control, would you still want?”  

Will bit his lip, fighting back tremors. He nodded. “I always want your hands on me. Even when you’re holding me, I still crave your touch.”

Hannibal’s voice was rough, but he pressed on. “What do you think about when you imagine my hands on you?”

The probing questions more charged than they'd ever been, Will realized they'd transcended their therapy. He felt humbled and subservient, as if he were kneeling in church. 

Will swallowed thickly, bending his head in supplication.

“I think about your creative and destructive tendencies, how you enact them with your hands. How, knowing all the wicked things they’re capable of, all I can ever imagine is how miraculous they’d feel wrapped around me, stroking me, making me come. How you could tear me apart and make me whole again, all with a single touch.”

Hannibal closed his eyes and breathed heavy against him, as if Will’s words alone were enough to bring him release. The rumbling in his chest reverberated through him, and Will sunk into the soothing vibration.

Eventually pulling back, Hannibal searched Will’s eyes with awe and appreciation.

“Thank you,” he said finally, echoing Will’s earlier gratitude.  

Bringing his hand up to cup the back of Will’s neck, Hannibal pressed their lips together in a slower, more intimate kiss. Will melted into its tenderness, feeling the love behind it and returned it in kind. He wanted to pull Hannibal closer to him but his arms were still bound behind him, so he opted instead to press his bare chest against Hannibal’s, feeling the relief of sweat-slick skin over skin.

After a few moments of reveling in each other’s lips, Hannibal slid to Will’s side, his erection pressing up against Will’s hip. Hannibal’s hand moved over Will’s bare skin again, tracing his fingers over his nipples and eliciting a gasp. Will tried to keep his mouth on Hannibal’s but found it nearly impossible when he felt the hand drop lower, teasing at his waistband before seizing him through his pants.

Will moaned, dropping his head to Hannibal’s shoulder, keen on watching Hannibal work his magic. He shivered into the hand that caressed the back of his neck while the other pulled his zipper down and reached inside. He groaned when the strong, firm hand gripped him and pulled him forth. He nearly came at the sight of Hannibal licking his palm, and then again on the first stroke as Hannibal’s hand wrapped around him. Will bit harder on his already battered lip to keep him from falling off the edge.

“Is this what you imagined, Will?” Hannibal asked, breath rough in his ear as he built up a steady rhythm. “When you thought of my hands on you, did you ever think it would be at your request?”

Will panted and groaned, losing himself to the glorious slide. His orgasm was already building deep inside him, but he wanted to hold on to the pleasure as long as he could. He twisted his head against Hannibal, trying to kiss into his neck and grind his hip into the hardness beside him, hoping to distract himself by repaying the overwhelming sensation.

Hannibal could sense what he was doing, however, and forced his head back, facing down.

“Don’t focus on me, Will.” He sped up the pace, twisting his hand, catching the head of Will’s cock with his thumb on each stroke. Will started to mumble incoherently, breathless as the promise of release crept up on him. “Look at what you’ve asked for and tell me that you want it.”

Will whimpered and shook and muttered inaudibly. Hannibal’s touch was even more blissful than he’d imagined. Warmth and need enveloped him, sending wave after wave of electricity pulsing through him that killed him slowly, beautifully and with mercy.

“Will, tell me,” Hannibal panted, his pace even more demanding than his words.

“I-I want…” Will couldn’t finish his thought, let alone his sentence.

“You want what?” Hannibal asked, almost as breathless as Will.

“I want you to make me come, oh god, please,” Will begged, entirely genuine this time around. Eyes shut, he allowed himself to succumb completely. “Please, Hannibal, please, please.”

Obligingly, Hannibal changed the curve of his wrist ever so slightly, perfectly, tearing Will’s release from him in a string of obscenities and moans. White sparked behind his eyes and he bit hard on Hannibal’s shoulder as he came all over himself and Hannibal’s hand.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Will breathed out as he sunk into his sweet afterglow. He felt defeated and fulfilled in equal measure.

He noticed dimly that Hannibal tensed beside him, his breath hitching as he let Will’s length go just before the contact became painful. Hannibal’s trapped cock twitched against his hip and he let out a deep growl, slumping against him after a moment.

Will’s refractory period wasn’t that short, but his empathy still reverberated with the echoes of Hannibal’s orgasm and he moaned all the same. Boneless, he slid against the edge of the counter and collapsed on the ground, bringing Hannibal uselessly with him.

When Hannibal had finally recovered enough to speak, he did so into Will’s neck.

“Thank you for finally being honest with me,” he said. “You had me convinced I’d gone insane.”

Will huffed but let out a hearty laugh in spite of himself. “Good! Long time coming, wouldn’t you say?”

“I'll say anything you need me to,” Hannibal hummed out as he took in Will’s wrecked appearance, his appetite quickly reigniting. “I hope you will return the favour. I’m curious to hear your thoughts on my talented tongue.”

But Will wriggled out of his grasp as much as he could, given that his arms were still bound.

“Oh, no, no,” Will chastised, “We’ve got plenty else to worry about right…shit.”

Hannibal raised his eyebrows.

Will indicated to the pantry door. It had been left wide open and Katrina was nowhere to be seen.

“I know,” Hannibal acknowledged nonchalantly, far more interested in studying Will’s lips. “I watched her slip out while you were moaning my name. She’s off to tattle on us, I imagine.”

“Oh,” Will’s face blanched. “But once she tells them what we did and what she, uh, overheard...”

“The authorities will realize who we are,” Hannibal said, maddeningly calm. “Jack will know we’re alive.” He reached over to pull Will’s sleeves up his arms, finally freeing him to move. “People will say we’re in love.”

Will’s mouth twisted instinctively, but Hannibal pressed a quick kiss to it.

“Us against the world, as it was always meant to be.”

Will groaned at the wistfulness in Hannibal’s voice. He pulled himself up by the edge of the counter and tucked himself back into his pants.

“Only you would find that scale of inconvenience somehow romantic.”

“Well, we’ve finally overcome your resistance of me,” Hannibal teased as he also rose off the ground. He placed his palm against Will’s cheek, ignoring the glare Will shot him. “We’re going to need new obstacles to add a little spice.”

“Fuck you,” Will uttered, unable to suppress a grin.

“Mmm, maybe after we slip out of the country,” Hannibal bit back, bending down to pick up the knife. He cleaned it with a towel and headed through the kitchen doors. “Right now, we’ll have to take our meal to go.”

Will rolled his eyes, wondering if he actually was in hell, but begrudgingly followed suit.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final installment!! Two chapters this time, but the last one is nice and long, so settle in. :)

Will awoke in the dark cabin of the boat, eyes slipping open so slowly that they needed no time to adjust.

Another dream of chasing wendigos and sensual caresses, as dramatically different and startlingly similar as every other dream he’d had for a fortnight. The setting, the plot and climax changed, yet the central theme remained constant. His subconscious was as desperate for Will to succumb as Hannibal had promised it would be.

 _Traitor,_ he grumbled down at his softening cock.

But beyond his unease over the disloyalty of both his mind and body, Will registered an overall sense of calm, one that had been steadily growing with each passing night. As charged as they were, Will no longer thought of them as nightmares, but a welcome escape.  From both the consequences of his deception, and from the real nightmares the Dragon tried to conjure when he let his guard slip. Will thought of them like a psychic immune system; his own demons trying to fight off the foreign invader by overheating his system.

He did always wake up feeling feverish, after all.

Of course, the nights when those dreams were most potent were ones like this, when Will woke to find Hannibal sitting across him in the small room. It was something he’d taken to doing ever since Will had first lied about his dream. Will strongly suspected that his unconscious distress was what drew Hannibal to his bedside, both out of concern and excitement, because otherwise Hannibal had maintained a respectful distance since his confession about the compound still unused in the drawer beside him.

Rarely would Hannibal say or do anything when he jolted awake, waiting for Will to ask for whatever he needed. And rarely would Will ask for anything before drifting back to sleep, knowing that was a damn slippery slope. The one time he’d caved and asked for his hand to be held, he’d spent the night fighting the powerful urge to simply pull Hannibal into bed with him and make his dream a reality.

But whatever commotion had first pulled Hannibal into his room this night must have long since passed, because Will could both sense that, for once, Hannibal was fast asleep.

Will studied him in the dark, appreciating the rare opportunity to observe the monster in a state of peaceful vulnerability. Slipping from beneath the sheets, Will silently closed the distance between them, hoping not to wake him while he took a closer look. Hannibal stirred slightly as he approached and Will froze, but after a moment he settled again, sinking back into sleep. Eyes closed, relaxed with steady breathing uninterrupted by his sinister tongue, he seemed something other than the devil incarnate. A fallen angel, maybe, but an angel nonetheless.

Will sighed at the swelling fondness warming his heart. He was well and truly fucked.

He noticed something propped in Hannibal’s lap, and moving just a shade closer, Will realized it was a sketchbook. Curving his head in the limited lighting, Will saw an unfinished drawing of himself. Hannibal had been sketching him while he slept, clearly admiring Will’s own peaceful expression.

Will briefly marvelled at how, with relatively few pencil strokes, Hannibal had captured his face, his facial hair and tousled curls with lifelike precision. But Will’s gaze quickly fell to the rest of the drawing, with which Hannibal had taken noticeable artistic license.

While he had started sleeping shirtless after the first few nights of finding Hannibal watching over him, a tease and subtle twist of the knife, Will knew his torso looked nowhere near as chiselled and angular as what had been sketched. And Will was certain that he hadn’t actually been sleeping completely exposed apart from a small bit of bedsheet draped over his hip to strategically cover his cock.

The sketch was somehow both innocent and erotic, and knowing Hannibal had watched over him while he drew brought Will’s fading arousal stirring back to life. He didn’t need to wonder why Hannibal had risked sketching it out when he could simply commit the sight to his memory palace. Hannibal was not capable of shame, but he had wanted Will to see it. To show Will _this_ is how he saw him, a delectable ideal, without breaking the promise of waiting for Will to come to him.

Will felt the light pencil stroke tracing over his form, intimately brushing the hard lines of his body, the imagined touch itself a tease. He bit his lip and shuddered, struggling not to audibly gasp.

Despite himself, Will smirked. Even in sleep, Hannibal was moving pieces on the board.

 _Moves and countermoves_ , Will thought. He pulled his shirt on and quickly padded out of the room.

Up on deck, he was thankful he’d thought to grab a thick jacket and shoes. The air was noticeably crisper than it had been a week earlier; but that was to be expected when you were no longer in the warm Caribbean waters.

He had been seeking solitude, but standing at the bow of the boat was the slim, silent ghost that had haunted him for nearly two months now. Will considered slipping back downstairs before he remembered that way lay more trouble, and instead chanced cooling off in her presence.

“You don’t have to stand so far away,” Chiyoh said eventually, breaking the long stretch of silence between them after Will had leaned against the railing. Turning her head ever so slightly, she caught his eye and grinned mischievously. “I promise I won’t push you overboard.”

Will’s mouth was a tight line. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll keep my distance.”

Chiyoh shrugged and turned back to the open water.

“You act as if my smile is the deadliest you’ve encountered,” Chiyoh said with cool detachment, “When we both know that I have saved you more times than I have caused you pain.”

She looked up to the moon, hiding behind clouds high above them.

“Can the same be said of him?”

Will bristled at the question. He had a hard enough time justifying his choices to himself, much less through vocalization to a third party. Especially one who already knew the truth of him.

“Much of that pain was merely a side-effect of an unorthodox form of therapy,” Will rationalized, echoing what he knew to be Hannibal’s thoughts. “I’m no longer in treatment for that particular affliction.”

“Much of that pain was a side-effect of his love for you,” Chiyoh countered. “You will never be cured of that.”

“And yet,” Will muttered sardonically, “you refuse to put me out of my misery.”

She glared at him, the intensity of her gaze enough to smart.

“You’re not miserable,” she snapped. “Your distress may have him distracted, but I see you have simply learned a new means of influence.”

She walked towards him slowly, running her hand along the railing with a graceful menace.

“Your love for him burns as brightly as his does for you,” she hissed. “The world will burn with it before you both turn to ash.”

Instead of retreating from her advance and denying the accusation, Will decided it was his turn to shrug.

“Probably,” he admitted. “We were always destined to go down in flames. A blaze of glory, he’d say.” Bitterness tinged his voice. “But I suppose you’ll be sticking around anyway, a splash of water always at the ready.”

“No,” she said, and Will eyed her curiously. She stopped several paces away from him and turned back out to the sea. “I am no more capable of witnessing the downfall he has chosen for himself than I am capable of being the cause of it. Once we land, I will take my leave.”

Will scoffed. “Do you really think he’ll let you go?”

“He does not see me as he sees you,” said Chiyoh, sizing him up. “I am not his pet. When he needs me, he’ll know how to find me. Until then, I reluctantly leave him with you.”

Will didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He couldn’t offer her the assurances he sensed she needed to hear. The protectiveness she felt for Hannibal was so radically different than his inability to live without him. She didn’t share his destructive tendencies. Which meant her leaving them was more than just a relief to him; it was the best for all involved.

“I’ve spent too long caring for the wild beasts I’ve caged,” she responded to his extended silence. “I no longer have the energy to keep you both from doing what is in your nature to do.”

Will’s innate contrariness led him to hope. “Some beasts hunt better in packs. Maybe untethered codependency will help us survive each other.”

“Maybe,” she offered half-heartedly, “Or maybe it will free you to devour each other whole.”

With that, Chiyoh headed below deck, leaving Will alone with the abyss of the ocean at night and his own dark thoughts.


	15. Chapter 15

Will grimaced as he flicked the tablet, unable to stop himself from cycling between numerous open windows.

_LECTER ALIVE AND AT LARGE OVERSEAS_

_HANNIBAL THE CANNIBAL MAKES A CULTURED COMEBACK_

_MURDER HUSBANDS HONEYMOON IN EUROPE, DINE OUT ON LOCAL CUISINE_

The headlines varied but the header image remained the same; splashed across the front page of every major news outlet was a photograph of a gruesome tableau. On a half-curtained stage sat the corpse of Viktor, limp and on his knees, both hands holding knives. His arms were propped up by bright red ribbons dangling from wooden marionette handle held by the staged corpse of Uncle Dmitry, positioned to be standing imposingly behind his son.

It was a striking image that sent a clear message to anyone who knew how to interpret Lecter’s design; here is the killer and his puppet-master, gift-wrapped for your viewing pleasure.

“We shouldn’t have wasted the time,” Will muttered when he sensed Hannibal standing behind him, peeking over his shoulder and admiring their work.

“Artistic expression is always worth the effort,” Hannibal chided, slipping his hands around Will’s soft white bathrobe and pulling their bodies together. He hooked his head on Will’s shoulder and pressed a small kiss to the side of his face. “Especially when one can expect such critical acclaim.”

As Will sunk into the embrace, inhaling the fresh scent of the expensive herbal shampoo, he wondered what Hannibal would consider a bad review.

“One of these articles broke down a rough timeline of events,” he said pointedly. “Another hour and we would have been stopped at the border.”

Hannibal simply swayed against him, arms crossed low on Will’s belly. “Then I am grateful I had an extra set of hands.”

A light breeze came in from the water and Will looked out, past the edge of the veranda to the bright blue of the Mediterranean.  The scenery of their current sea-side hideaway was drastically different from anything they’d seen in the Caribbean, but the seclusion and grandness of the estate made it feel warm and familiar all the same. This coupled with the fact that the former owner, another recluse who the world would not miss, was currently stuffed into the freezer, and Will felt right at home. Which was good, because they wouldn’t be leaving for a while.

As soon as the right people had gotten wind of her story, Katrina had immediately been able to identify Hannibal and Will. Upon confirmation that they were alive, a full-blown media circus had erupted overnight.

Katrina told the press a tragic story; orphaned at a young age and left in the care of her controlling uncle, she endured his obsession with their family’s ballet legacy, eventually looking for an escape from his influence and the sadism he had fostered in her cousin. She confessed that she suspected they were behind the ballet murders, and knowing that local law enforcement was in her uncle’s pocket, had intended to beg for them to spare her. Instead, she’d stumbled upon a much more gruesome scene and a fight for her life.

Of course, Will knew that she wasn’t quite the victim she portrayed herself to be. But while many news outlets portrayed her as sympathetic, Freddie Lounds speculated she had somehow recruited the infamous 'Murder Husbands' to eliminate her dance rivals for the prestige, and then her eccentric family for the inheritance.  The internet became enamoured with the conspiracy theory, the main reason being many couldn’t fathom Dr. Lecter being so sloppy as to let an intended victim escape. One of the stranger elements of Hannibal’s fame was that the masses took a bizarre comfort in the idea that he was infallible.

While Will wasn’t quite as upset over this turn of events as he was for almost giving Katrina to the Dragon, he still regretted the havoc this would wreak on the rest of her life. Whatever her transgressions, she didn’t deserve this. Although, now that he had settled into his becoming, his guilt manifested through contemplating what kind of tableau he might stage to exonerate her.

Hannibal was the main player in most of the stories, but many featured Will as the unhinged FBI agent who was once driven insane by a monster and eventually became one himself. They were often accompanied by links to old articles from when he’d been institutionalized and after Hannibal had been captured, with journalists poring over statements and evidence for clues that could explain him.

'No comment' was the near-unanimous sentiment from his family and former colleagues, who had claimed until now that they believed Will to have been either killed or captured. Each would have their own reasons, but Molly, Alana, Jack and even Chilton must have had the sense to keep their statements on this new development out of the press. Only one person from his former life had been so bold as to break rank.

_“While my heart goes out to a fellow victim of Hannibal Lecter’s sinister manipulations, I fear he has slipped far beyond what I became when I was snatched from the devil’s gnashing teeth. I was able to recover myself, but given the degree of his alleged participation, Mr. Graham will likely not be so lucky. I would advise any law enforcement tasked with their capture to keep in mind that Will Graham’s rehabilitation is almost certainly out of the question.”_

The esteemed Dr. Du Maurier had tacitly given the world permission to shoot him on sight. Will deeply ached with the desire to pay Bedelia a visit.

“Does it bother you?” Hannibal asked after a few moments of peaceful quiet.

“Hmm?” Will hummed, still obsessively skimming every tab.

“To be seen by the world as a monster?” Hannibal elaborated, reaching to flip the cover over the screen and placing it on the table beside them. Out of sight, out of mind. “I recall you didn’t care for it much the first time around.”

“I wasn’t a monster the first time around,” Will said, folding his left arm overtop the one across his belly, running his hand along the fine layer of hair he felt there. “Can’t say the same now.”

“That does not mean it doesn’t bother you.” Hannibal brought his hand up and absently stroked at his clothed arm.

“Not everyone gets the same thrill you do at seeing their name splashed across the headlines.” Will stretched his head back against Hannibal’s shoulder and closed his eyes. “But I won’t lie; yes, it bothers me.”

“Why?” Hannibal asked in earnest. He owned the word ‘monster’ as if it were high praise.

“Other than the million obvious, upsetting and inconvenient reasons as to why it should?” Will huffed out. He considered. “More obnoxious than the idea that I’m simply your lapdog is the dismissal of me as just another one of your victims.”

“Being misunderstood can lead to feelings of alienation.” Hannibal rested his chin on Will’s shoulder and pulled their bodies closer. “How does their speculation fail to explain you?”

“Neither theory gives me enough credit,” Will replied. Defensively, he added, “I resisted your influence for years. If I’m finally a monster too, it’s because of choices I made.”

“Your vanity is showing,” Hannibal laughed. “Being deemed ‘insane’ over and over will bring that out in pathologies such as ours.”

“I’m not insane,” Will insisted. “I’m in more control of myself than I have ever been.”

He lolled his head to the side and tucked it against Hannibal’s jaw, reluctantly adding, “Except for the Dragon.”

Hannibal pressed a kiss to his temple.

“I think you’ve proven yourself stronger than the Dragon,” he said with confidence. “With time, he will retreat from the front of your mind, falling into line with the other killers whose thoughts only occasionally tangle with your own.”

“Until then?” Will asked teasingly, already knowing the answer.

Hannibal hummed, the rumble in his chest soothingly vibrating against Will’s back.

“As I first prescribed, we will use an alternative, safer outlet for you to redirect those urges.”

Will felt arousal suddenly stir, tendrils of want threading their way along the underside of his skin as Hannibal rubbed a hand along his belly before tugging at the sash on his robe. Desire ran at odd angles with the dark thoughts he’d been incubating moments before, but it was precisely why he welcomed the distraction. He needed a tangible reminder of why he’d set his world on fire and left it to burn.

Hannibal’s free hand moved along Will’s shoulder to his neck, stroking at the exposed skin there and spreading flat against his chest once the robe had opened enough. Will reached one hand back behind them both and threaded his fingers into Hannibal’s short, damp hair.

Will’s breath hitched when he felt Hannibal’s growing stiffness dig into the base of his spine. He was overwhelmed by the hunger radiating off of the man behind him, having been denied its intensity for months. Aside from a few days ago, when Will had taken it after their freshest kill. Reliving the memory had Will trembling with unfulfilled lust.

“Would you deny me if my urges weren’t entirely authentic?” Vibrating against the larger man behind him, Will brought Hannibal’s hand to cup him through the cloth. “The Dragon is still licking his wounds, but in the spirit of full disclosure, you should know this craving is not all mine.”

“So long as any of it is yours,” Hannibal reasoned, running his palm along Will’s bulge and drawing a moan, “I am more than willing to alleviate the rest.”

“Treat the patient, not the disease?”

Hannibal hummed in agreement. “That’s always been my approach.”

He spun Will around and pressed him into the stone banister along the edge of the veranda. It was only then Will realized that Hannibal had been standing behind him, out in the open, completely naked. He’d thought Hannibal had at least been wearing bottoms, shorts, underwear, _something_. Will groaned; his surrender had served to make Hannibal impossibly bold.

But given that this was his consolation prize, Will discovered he didn’t mind.

Will opened his robe completely and brought Hannibal flush against him, pulling their mouths together for a hot, needy kiss. Their erections slotted against each other, flesh to flesh for the first time, and Will shuddered at the contact. He ran his hands along Hannibal’s thick arms, his broad shoulders, his muscular back.

“You are exploring,” Hannibal gasped when he broke away for air, speaking in short bursts between peppered kisses along Will’s stubbled cheek, jaw and neck. “Unfamiliar territory, I imagine. Tell me, Will, is this the first time you’ve felt genuine desire for a man?”

Even with his head thrown back, mouth wide and eyes shut, Will couldn’t help but smirk. Was he willing to feed this monster’s ego more than he already had?

“Curious,” he choked out a laugh as Hannibal sucked a bruise into his neck.

“What is?” Hannibal asked, lapping at the new mark.

Will murmured with pleasure, musing absently, “That you believe I still mistake you for a man.”

Hannibal threaded his fingers through Will’s curls and pulled his head down, leveling their gazes and holding them steady. He ground his thick, hard erection against Will’s, igniting sparks behind his eyes and stealing a throaty moan from him. The sensation was too good, too much, and Will’s instinct was to close his eyes and twist away, but Hannibal’s strength held him there, making him face it head on.

“I can assure you, Will,” Hannibal breathed out, eyes lidded and hungry, “In this moment, I am as human as you.”

Will ran his hands along Hannibal’s shoulders, across his lightly dusted chest and gripped at the sides of his neck, pulling him in for another kiss. As their tongues danced, he returned the friction Hannibal had given him in kind, tearing moans from both of them with their lips still firmly locked.

After a moment, Will pushed them both off the banister, guiding Hannibal backwards onto a large, plush lounge chair positioned not too far away.

“Whatever you are,”

Will kneeled on the edge of the chair and pulled off his robe completely, letting it fall behind him onto the ground.

“In this moment,”

He pressed Hannibal’s chest firmly against the cushion.

“I want you.”

He climbed on top, straddling his knees on either side of Hannibal’s hips.

Will could see and feel the arousal pouring off Hannibal, both from Will’s words and his suddenly dominant behaviour. Will was momentarily surprised to see the sadist so submissive, but he realized that as much as Hannibal was reacting to Will’s desire, he was equally aroused at his own desire being directed back at him.

“Fucking narcissist,” Will growled. “Of course you fell in love with your reflection.”

Instead of resisting and, forcing it to slip off him, Will allowed himself to soak up all of Hannibal’s arousal until he was saturated and thrumming with unrestrained want. The strength of his own need was magnified, amplified exponentially when combined with that of the man beneath him.

At the first sign of Hannibal moving up to meet his mouth, Will snapped his hand around his throat and forced it back down, fingers flexing with consideration before tightening to choke him.

Hannibal snaked a hand up his side and but Will was lightning quick and grabbed it, pinning it beside Hannibal’s head. He moved his knee to press against Hannibal’s other arm. Hannibal could easily overpower him, but Will was secure in the knowledge that he definitely didn’t want to.

As Hannibal gasped for breath, tears forming at the corner of his eyes, Will allowed himself a moment to appreciate the sight of his struggle. Rage flared up in him as he remembered all the reasons he’d fantasized about killing him, blending with the intoxicating want already flowing through him. The thrill of control over Hannibal’s life was invigorating, more arousing than any physical sensation. The fear that Hannibal might trust his own instincts too much, that Will might finally give in to the chronic urge to kill him, was as heady as anything he had ever experienced.

Will ran his thumb along the faded, jagged scar on Hannibal’s wrist, desire peaking at the knowledge that he had been responsible for such a beautiful mark. Imagining himself as the one who’d wielded the blade had him on the edge of release, and he relaxed his grip on Hannibal’s throat just enough to let air rush back into his gasping lungs. He rewarded Hannibal’s compliance by climbing back down so their bodies were flush again, sliding their cocks alongside each other and eliciting moans from them both.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re vulnerable,” Will said, Hannibal’s voice echoing internally as he spoke. Will leaned down to kiss him, brutal and dirty, before trailing his kisses down Hannibal’s neck. He released Hannibal’s throat completely and moved lower and lower, leaving licks and bite marks in his wake.

“You’re always beautiful,” Hannibal replied, his voice raw from Will’s grip. With his hands free, he tangled his hands loosely in Will’s hair, gasping and moaning with every mark of affection Will left on him, but never pulling his hair taut.

Will finally reached his destination, face to face with Hannibal’s large, thick, uncut cock. He gulped, taking it in his hand and tugging it experimentally. The unfamiliar sensation of grasping an erection that wasn’t his own caught him off-guard, momentarily bringing him back to himself.

Will didn’t know what he was expecting to hear when he first palmed Hannibal’s length, but it sure as hell wasn’t a chuckle.

“Oh Will,” Hannibal smiled down at him affectionately, the tears from moments earlier still staining his flushed cheeks. “Ever the blushing virgin. Desperately obscuring your trepidation before your first taste.”

Will’s eyes narrowed. Without another thought, he swallowed Hannibal whole.

Hannibal threw his head back against the cushion, moaning while letting out a few more laughs. Will, for his part, was trying not to choke as Hannibal involuntarily pistoned his hips, shoving his cock down the back of Will’s throat. Luckily, Will had an aptitude for oral sex that wasn’t bound by gender, quickly using his leverage to pin down Hannibal’s hips. In control again, he pulled his mouth off to gasp for air and before swiftly sliding it back down.

Will couldn’t hold back the cough in his throat or the tears in his eyes, but he could force himself to work through it, picking up a steady enough rhythm to shut up Hannibal’s laughter for good. When he finally settled into the motion of it, bobbing his head and breathing through his nose, he allowed their shared arousal to slip back into the driver’s seat, feeling every gasp and moan he pulled from Hannibal reverberate through him and send out sparks of pleasure.

He pulled off Hannibal’s cock and licked a long stripe along the underside, tonguing the vein, pulling down the foreskin and licking at leaking precum along the slit. When Hannibal began cursing in Lithuanian, Will sucked him back down and began pumping his hand in tandem with the movements of his lips.

Blinking up, he caught Hannibal staring down at him intensely, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of Will devouring him.

Will locked their eyes and ramped up his empathy, deciphering every micro-sensation needed to push Hannibal over the edge. Will obliged accordingly, sucking and licking and pumping his hand, no longer as an overeager novice but a steady, seasoned pro. To his great satisfaction, Hannibal lost their staring contest, his eyes snapping shut as he came in great spurts at the back of Will’s throat.

Will’s cock was leaking as Hannibal’s orgasm echoed through him and he squeezed himself to keep from coming that very second, focusing instead on swallowing everything he could and chasing the dripping beads of come down the shaft with his tongue. He discovered that the only reason he was desperate to swallow everything was because it was what Hannibal would want, but he didn’t care. In that moment, Will still found the taste insanely arousing and he had to grab himself even harder to stop his own release.

Letting the waves of Hannibal’s desire wash over him, out of him, receding like a low tide, Will finally gained back control and slowed his desperate panting. Lifting his head up from Hannibal’s thigh, Will’s gaze was met with unfiltered awe.

“You are magnificent,” Hannibal whispered with reverence, leaning forward and pulling Will up the length of the chair. 

The kiss was voracious, Hannibal’s tongue running along his own as he greedily sought to taste himself in Will. He licked along the corners of Will’s mouth, lapping up the mess of come, saliva and tears that dripped off the lower half of his face.

“Glorious, beautiful, absolutely stunning," Hannibal rhapsodized. "It's beyond me how you can doubt God’s existence when you were so obviously made in his image.”

Will moaned, rocking against Hannibal and kissing back when he could. His need to dominate satisfied for now, he allowed himself to give Hannibal back the reins.

Hannibal snapped them up without pause, flipping them both over so he hovered over Will, taking another needy kiss from him before trailing his mouth down his body. Will stroked one hand along Hannibal’s back while seizing the edge of the cushion with the other, blunt nails digging into both as Hannibal took his length in hand while flicking a tongue over his nipple.

“Fuck,” Will hissed at the combined sensation. As Hannibal began to stroke him while worshipping him with his tongue, Will quickly edged back to an arousal that he could almost entirely claim as his own. “God, Hannibal, please, I want, fuck, I need your mouth on me.”

Pausing only briefly from playing Will’s body like an instrument, Hannibal’s eyes flickered upwards to flash Will a mischievous grin. As he pulled back even lower, running his hands enticingly along the side of Will’s stomach, over his hips and down his thighs, Hannibal’s mouth hovered tantalizingly close to the tip of Will’s cock.

“As you wish,” he said, before gripping firmly at Will’s hips and promptly flipping Will over.

Will yelped with surprise and shock as his stomach hit the cushion, trapping his twitching erection between himself and the soft fabric. In an instant, Hannibal’s weight was on him, broadening his arm across the base of Will’s spine to pin him down, drawing a gasp as his cock responded to the resulting friction.

As Hannibal ran a free hand along the globe of his ass, Will stuttered. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“You didn’t specify,” Hannibal countered, ignoring the protests that followed. He caressed, nibbled and sucked marks into the fleshy mounds, more for his pleasure than Will’s.

Will felt a blush rise in his cheeks at the unfamiliar attention, and he sunk his forehead against the pillow, forcing his body to relax. Sensing Will’s resistance finally dissipating, Hannibal removed the arm that pinned him and palmed both cheeks in his broad hands, pulling them apart. It took every fibre of Will’s strength for him to stop himself from tensing at being so exposed.

Hannibal licked a thick stripe along the centre of him, tongue circling around his hole before lapping at him with abandon. Will jerked, first over the involuntary shock of the new sensation, and then at the slow feedback loop of pleasure that built as his cock rubbed against the cushion at every lick until the licks themselves became a pleasure unto themselves.

Will turned his head to the side, cheek flat against the fabric as he panted, grasping at the cushion until his knuckles whitened. Jolts of arousal sparked through him as Hannibal dined out on the most intimate part of him, and he rode the cresting wave as it built deep inside.

When Hannibal finally probed him, tonguing him open only enough to dip the tip inside, Will gasped and reached a hand back to grab at Hannibal’s head, pushing him deeper. He trembled at the feel of the warm, filthy licks inside him until the muscle went rigid. Rocking his hips slightly as he held Hannibal’s lips steady against his hole, Will made Hannibal fuck him with his tongue. While it wasn’t enough to make him come, it felt blissfully good, and Will was happy to take whatever pleasure he could from it.

Before too long, Hannibal exerted his strength again, pulling his thick tongue out and running it flat along him. Will whimpered at the loss and Hannibal laughed.

“Dear Will,” Hannibal sighed before stepping away and out of Will’s line of sight. “You’re not ready for me to make love to you.”

“I feel ready,” Will groaned in protest, aftershocks still pulsing through him as he rubbed against the mattress for relief.

“You’re not,” Hannibal reiterated, obviously pleased with himself, wherever he was. “I promise, when you are, you will know because you will _beg_ for it.”

Will was boneless, moaning as he gracelessly twisted himself on the chair, flopping over so he was face up. He palmed at his neglected length, on the edge of the release long enough that it was almost painful. He stroked himself a few times, cupping his sack as did so, focusing on the sensation of the warm wetness that Hannibal had left him dripping with.

“If you don’t get back here now, I’m finishing without you,” he called out, eyes closed as he allowed himself some much needed relief.

When he finally sensed Hannibal’s weight back on the chair, Will peeked open an eye to see Hannibal crawling over top of him, predatory and ravenous. He snatched both of Will’s hands away from their task of self-pleasure, pushing him along the cushion until Will’s shoulders were propped up against the angled back of the chair. Will went happily and was rewarded with a warm, minty kiss that he sunk into, chasing any pleasant sensation he could. He wrapped his hands around Hannibal's back, trying to pull them closer but Hannibal held firm, his knees propped alongside Will’s torso their only other point of contact.

Will felt a warm, thick drip along the length of his upturned cock and he broke the kiss to see Hannibal pouring liquid from a small, clear vial. Will groaned when Hannibal dropped the vial at the side and wrapped his large, strong hand around his length, working to expertly cover him in the lovely, warm lubricant. Breathy and blissed out, Will kissed Hannibal through it, pumping his hips up with every stroke of pleasure.

Hannibal shifted above him, pushing Will even further back into the cushion as the stroking momentarily ceased. Will eyed him curiously before he felt the head poking into Hannibal’s copiously lubricated entrance.

“Fuck,” Will bit out, hands flying to Hannibal’s hips as he sunk down onto Will’s cock in one swift, smooth motion. He threw his head back, the warm heat enveloping him threatening to consume him. “Fuck, Hannibal, yes.”

When he’d settled into being buried to the hilt, Will looked up to see Hannibal trembling, and risked opening the dam on his empathy enough to allow those feelings to seep into him.

Hannibal soon began moving against him, rocking his hips back and forth as he pressed his hard length along Will’s stomach, shuddering both at the friction there and the feel of Will deep inside him. He folded his arms behind Will’s neck, kissed him with a fierce, uninhibited passion. As Will angled himself to pump into him, Hannibal purred, overcome with satisfaction at finally being filled by Will, as if he’d been starving for years and this had finally nourished him.

Will’s hips stuttered at the overwhelming dual desires quickly flooding him, craving and need and satiation and _love_ swelling up inside him and threatening to burst. It was absolutely too much, too soon and he couldn’t take it.

He ripped his lips away and threw back his head, arching his back to try and get more leverage and chase the physical sensation, hoping to overpower the swirl of emotions he wasn’t ready to face. Pounding harder into Hannibal, hitting the spot inside him over and over that forced him to growl with deep satisfaction, only further stoked the fire in Will.

In a rush of movement, he pulled out of Hannibal and bucked him off, groaning at the brief loss before he twisted around behind him, gripping his neck and hip, entering him swiftly from behind. As Will began fucking him with abandon, snapping his hips and gripping tight enough to leave marks for days, Hannibal cried out in pleasure and fueled Will’s transformation into a wild, reckless animal.

It didn’t take long for Will’s orgasm to finally hit him like a freight train, rocketing through him as he came loudly, obscenely, fireworks exploding behind his eyes as he hammered into Hannibal’s heat. The tight hole clenched around him, taking every thrust eagerly and milking Will of every last drop of come. Will collapsed along Hannibal’s back, pumping steadily even as he was on the edge of oversensitive, forehead pressed into his arm that was braced along Hannibal’s shoulder blade as he rode the last sparks of his release.

When he had the capacity to form coherent thoughts, Will cursed his own pride for denying himself this pleasure.

He ran his free hand along Hannibal’s side, up the back of his thick, hairy thigh before reaching around his hip to pull at Hannibal’s still-jutting erection. With a few strokes and pumps of his hips, Hannibal’s orgasm quickly followed and Will had to withdraw, the overstimulation of the echo too much, feeling the warm liquid chase him and drip as he pulled out.

Sweating, tired and breathless, Will helplessly followed Hannibal as he collapsed from his knees onto the cushion. After a few moments of simply basking in the afterglow, nibbling along Hannibal’s backside and running his hands along his skin, Will slipped off and lay along the cushion on his side. Hannibal propped himself to face Will, staring with undying affection.

“I believe our session was successful,” Hannibal teased, “wouldn’t you say?”

Will groaned, but he was so satisfied and relaxed, he gave in and played along. “I definitely felt a breakthrough.”

Hannibal grinned as he tucked a stray curl out of Will’s eyes. “Not quite. You retreated at the end. Expelled the inferno building inside you by erupting prematurely.”

“Hey!” Will shoved Hannibal’s chest, laughing in spite of himself. “Don’t use thinly layered metaphor to mock my performance. I think I held out pretty long, considering.”

Hannibal’s eyes flashed with humour, and he pressed a kiss to Will’s mouth.

“You did wonderfully. I’ve never been more satisfied.” When Will rolled his eyes, Hannibal stroked his cheek. “I mean that in earnest. I have never experienced carnal pleasure fuelled by such emotion. My mind is swimming with the works of the great masters, composers and playwrights and poets and painters, and through the light of this prism, it is as if their elusive meaning has been suddenly revealed to me.”

 “Are you saying all the love songs make sense?” Will chuckled.

Hannibal refused to even dignify that with a response, simply kissing him again.

“You seemed to find genuine satisfaction as well,” Hannibal observed coquettishly, and Will hummed in confirmation. “I trust we were alone as you did so.”

Will nodded, confirming. “No mirrors, no blood, no Dragon. A lot of you, _a lot_ , but more than enough of me.”

“I don’t believe there is such thing as enough of you,” Hannibal said breathily, and Will reverberated with the emotion behind it. “But I’m pleased you found the therapy effective. We will need to establish a frequent, rigourous regimen. For the sake of your mental health, of course.”

“Always a top priority for you, Dr. Lecter,” Will replied sarcastically. “Right up there with a respect for my physical well-being.”

Hannibal smirked and ran his thumb along Will’s forehead, tracing the scar he’d left. “I hope you no longer harbour any doubts about my capacity to love."

Will blinked as he watched Hannibal, the barest hint of a fear of rejection hidden in his otherwise confident expression.

“I believe what you feel for me is love,” Will assured him. He laughed as he considered it. “Maybe I am insane, because I’m also starting to believe I might actually survive it.”

Will looked at his hand, absently tracing his thumbs along the soft hairs of Hannibal’s arm. Such a small, innocuous gesture, but so laced with meaning once he gave it enough thought.

“I don’t know what I feel,” he admitted, whispering. “My craving has evolved into something more complex, but it hasn’t quite become love. Not yet.”

Hannibal’s eyes brightened at the last word and he leaned in for a soft, chaste kiss.

“No worries, dear Will” he sighed, smiling. “I believe I've proven that I am indeed a patient man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for coming with me on this journey. What started as a quick way for me to process my complicated feelings about the finale evolved into something much larger and much more satisfying than I expected. On top of getting to express my love for the show, these characters and their insanely twisted relationship, I got to work out my decade-long discomfort with the ending of the novel 'Hannibal,' which was an incredibly cathartic bonus. It's been wonderful to have so many people share their enjoyment of this story, but I do hope that one day (maybe 22 months from now?) it becomes superfluous due to Bryan announcing a fourth season *crosses fingers* ^_^
> 
> Thank you again to all the kudos leavers and commenters; I really have appreciated everyone who has shared their thoughts with me, and I'll do my best to respond to them over the next few days. 
> 
> Finally, a special shout-out to the person who has chosen to go by "Molly the Lolly's Lesbian BFF" here in the comments. This fic would absolutely not exist without the numerous, lengthy twitter conversations that fuelled our mutual obsession for the show and annoyed the shit out of our mutual followers. This is all I ever wanted for you, for both of us <33333
> 
>  **Update:** I've posted [Interludes](http://archiveofourown.org/series/381148) that take place some time after this story, if you're into that sort of thing.
> 
> [illyriashell.tumblr.com](http://illyriashell.tumblr.com/)


End file.
